


Ab Aeterno

by RaccoonMama



Series: NaNoWriMo 2014 and Divergent Stories [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Reboot, Friend Date, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, NaNoWriMo, Other, Prowl hates everybody mostly, Red Herrings, Sentinel Prime is a huge dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2585408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaccoonMama/pseuds/RaccoonMama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the distant past, the first fires of rebellion have begun to burn, pushing at the edges of the perceived peace of the masses. And in Iacon, capitol city of Cybertron, a quiet young graduate of the military academy has been forced to spearhead an effort to help quell it. Brought on as Sentinel Prime's new second in command almost immediately after his graduation, Prowl must find a way to turn a group of mostly peaceful enforcers into an army before the violent, charismatic gladiator of Kaon can rise up and destroy them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is incredibly canon divergent. I've been referring to it as "the great big G1 reboot" forever and a day now. In any case, please enjoy my NaNoWriMo '14 efforts. Though I am a fan of the IDW comics, this is based almost exclusively off G1 and Dreamwave's short run.
> 
> To note: playing with units of time, since I've never bought some of the official measurements for Cybertronian time spans. For story purposes, see below. Lord knows I'll break this since I'm on a mad dash to finish 50k in a month, but here you go.
> 
> Vorn = 1 Cybertronian Year  
> Lunar = 1 Cybertronian Month (both moons must complete full cycles)  
> Orn = 1 Cybertronian Day  
> 

Despite how many times he had tried to get a good sense of the building in his mind, there was no map or image that could compare to the Elite Guard headquarters itself. Prowl fanned his doors a bit as he stood near a window in the central facility, optics glowing dimly. He hadn't expected to be here quite so soon... at least not if he was being honest with himself. His graduation ceremony had only been a few orn before, and it was unsettling to think that so much had happened in that short span of time.

He had been in the middle of exams when the news hit that Tripwire, second in command to Sentinel Prime, had died unexpectedly, some supposed during a skirmish near Tyger Pax. Of course, the news refused to refer to this as a war, but as Prowl had seen in simulation after simulation run on his own complex battle computer systems, war was the only logical outcome. Why not call it what it was and stop coddling the populace?

Of course, those thoughts were distant. Even after his graduation, he hadn't expected to join the primary Autobot forces for at least a few vorn, if there were even combatants left by that point. It was a grim, dismal mindset, and at first, he was finding it next to impossible to shake. That was, however, before a messenger from high command had arrived as he was clearing out his dorm, preparing for the long trip back to Praxus, more enthusiastic than he ought to have been considering the news he carried.

Prowl had been recruited, specifically, by Sentinel Prime. He had graduated top of his class, after all, and was – without question – one of the most skilled tacticians and logicians Cybertron had ever seen. This, along with his scores in battlefield management and his high marks in combat competency, made him the perfect candidate to become the new second in command under Sentinel Prime.

And now, here he stood, gazing out a window at the city far below. Iacon was beautiful, though it was no Praxus, and unlike his home city-state, it seemed so far from the near constant clashes with the Kaonian rebels. The young mech's doors drooped slightly at that thought, a frown crossing his face, just as a door slid open behind him.

“Why so glum, friend?” That voice did not belong to Sentinel Prime. Prowl turned slightly, finding himself looking at a sleek mech... he didn't recognize him. Perhaps from a vid or two of Sentinel's speeches? “I've been sent in here by the big guy to give you the grand tour. Prowl, right?” He offered a servo and an easy smile. “Jazz.”

Prowl was hesitant, but he took the offered servo with a skeptical look. “It's a pleasure to meet you, though I can't say I'm familiar with your name. I thought I knew the identities of all of the Prime's inner circle.”

Jazz's grin turned playful, and he gave Prowl's servo a hearty shake before withdrawing his own and stretching. “Oh, I'm a little bit of everywhere, and I don't much care for cams. Reckon I'm technically third in command, if you want somethin' solid.”

“Technically? Then why weren't you promoted to second after Tripwire's termination?”

“Mmmmm... didn't wanna be.”

Somewhat taken aback by the older mech's carefree demeanor, Prowl frowned, doing his best to keep his expression and doors schooled so that neither truly gave away how he felt. Already he had a sense of distrust for this black and white mech. Everything, from his low voice to the fluid way he moved, threw off his calculations, and he very much disliked it when he couldn't at least get an idea of how someone was going to react, or what their next action would be.

Jazz was already a noticeable glitch in all his algorithms, and it was more distracting than he cared for. He watched as the mech turned, motioning for Prowl to follow, and spoke up after they had been walking for some time. “So... how long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” Jazz rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “I joined up some time ago, and my skill got me noticed. Not like you, though. You've got everyone around here talkin'.”

That was enough to distract Prowl, however momentarily, from the unsettled thoughts rattling around in his processor. Surprised, he looked toward the other mech. “I've... got everyone talking? Surely they've had other tacticians here. Other battlefield logicians. I can't possibly be the first.”

The black and white chuckled, shaking his head. “We have. But none quite like you, friend. I heard them talkin' about your scores. You're a damn genius, if you don't mind my sayin' so. And it's a hell of a compliment, considering some of the mechs we got here.”

Prowl pressed his lip plating together tightly at that thought. He had never considered himself a genius, per se. He had gone to academy because it had seemed like the logical option considering his skill set, and he had excelled because he wanted to. Surely others must've had comparable marks? He would have to ask the Prime about it later. If, of course, he ever got the opportunity to talk to the mech.

The Elite Guard headquarters seemed much larger as he walked it than it had upon first glance. Many of those they passed greeted Jazz amiably, even warmly, and with a familiarity Prowl had felt with few outside of his creators. It was a wonder, considering that despite supposedly being an officer, they all reacted to this strange mech as though he was a dear friend. These same strangers regarded him with somewhat cool indifference, though they were polite enough when he was introduced. He wondered if any of them had hoped themselves worthy of second to the Prime, and if he had unintentionally made enemies by being selected by such a lofty position when he had never served.

Their first stop was the medbay. The current chief medical officer was a slim, sleek little femme named Lathe, who gave them both a brilliant smile when they entered, turning from a neatly finished repair as she wiped her servos on a cleaning cloth. “Jazz! It's so good to see you. I take it this is Sentinel's new second? My goodness, he's not very old, is he...?”

Prowl felt apprehensive at the comment and he cleared some static from his vocalizer. “Old enough to attend and graduate from academy, so I should think that would be old enough.”

“Mm, maybe.” She stepped over, a thoughtful expression on her faceplate as she walked a full circle around him. “Tripwire had twice your vorn, or more. You don't have his height, either, but your actual battlefield prowess isn't what I understand is important.”

Jazz nodded at the appraisal. “Kid's got one of the most complex battle computers I've heard about to date.”

“Please don't talk about me as if I'm not here.” This time, Prowl was unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone. Hard to believe either of these two were soldiers, the way they carried on. “I was apparently selected because of three factors: the fact that I graduated at the top of my class, my scores on various apparently important tests, and – yes – my battle computer. Am I correct in understanding that we are here so that I may get a physical done?”

Lathe snorted, though the little smile forming gave away her amusement. “You're an interesting one, Prowl. That's for certain. And no, your physical isn't until later. For some reason, this hooligan always deems it necessary to bring newbies down here first.”

“It's 'cause you're cute.” The comment earned Jazz a light smack on the arm. “Okay, okay, it's because the medbay is gonna be a familiar spot for you. At least with the way things are goin'.”

It was such a throwaway comment, but Prowl snapped his head toward Jazz immediately, optics narrowing faintly. The other mech wasn't looking at him, his expression strangely grim, but all at once he turned back to Prowl, already smiling as Lathe rolled her optics.

“Don't mind Jazz too much, sir.” The use of a specific honorific startled Prowl a bit, and his attention was briefly taken off Jazz to look toward Lathe. “He's cryptic about the silliest things. In any case, I'd like you back here at 1700 joors for me to actually complete your physical. That will give you time to continue seeing the rest of the base, as well as to actually meet with Sentinel Prime.”

Jazz nodded, dismissing his previous comment without a thought. “He's in a meeting with the council right now or I would've taken you to him straightaway.”

The council? Yes, that did make sense. As they were not – technically – in a war at the moment, the council still had control over the Prime's actions. The thought often left a sour feeling in his tanks, one he always tried hard to brush off, and he took a moment to steady himself. Jazz took the opportunity to startle him further, putting a servo on his arm. “You okay, mech?”

Startled, Prowl blinked at the closeness of him, pulling back a pace or two. “I'm fine. I haven't had any energon since I left my dorm to move to the barracks early this morning, however-”

Lathe, immediately irritated, again turned her ire on Jazz, swatting him hard on the arm. “You haven't even let this poor boy fuel up? What sort of terrible morale officer are you, Jazz?!”

“Ow ow ow! Easy, femme, I didn't know he hadn't refueled.” He gave an easy smile, seeming to ignore Prowl's puzzled look at the “morale officer” comment. “I'll take him straight down to the mess. See who else I can introduce him to.”

She scowled, though on her soft, pale face, it didn't have the desired effect. “Good. And no side-tracking! Wheeljack probably isn't even back from his mate's clinic yet, so there'd be no point going by his workshop.”

“I realize that, Lathe. Besides, I don't need our new SIC fallin' over from lack of fuel, now, would I? I ain't completely sparkless.”

The medic rolled her optics again as Jazz took Prowl by the arm, heading for the door. Startled, the young mech glanced over his shoulder. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Doctor.”

She blinked a few times, then smiled and waved. “Anytime, sir. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of one another.”

* * *

The mess hall here was considerably larger than the one at the military academy, and much better stocked. There were various dispensers that held different types of energon, many of which were specially refined for various builds. There was even, he noted with a small thrill of delight, a specific Praxian refinement he'd enjoyed back home.

“They don't hold back here,” Jazz was saying, motioning at the various dispensers. “There's harder stuff too, but it's heavily rationed and typically only reserved for officers. You'd be allowed access, of course, once you're fully inducted.”

He was looking around the room, waving back at those who waved at him, until he spotted a mech Prowl had first assumed was a service drone. He was sitting in a back corner, a mug of energon cradled in his large hands, red armor dirty and covered in more scrapes and dents than he had even thought possible for one Autobot. “...I understand this is the common mess, Jazz, but... is that mech even military? Looks civilian class... builder, maybe?”

“A civilian builder?” Jazz sounded almost indignant. “Slag no. That's Ironhide. He's the Prime's military advisor, though he's mostly retired from active duty. He'll actually be the one helpin' you settle in once I'm done showin' you around.”

The mech in question seemed to know he was being talked about, and he turned to look at them over his shoulder. It almost surprised the young graduate seeing just how old this Ironhide looked, with a tired and weathered faceplate and such old armor. Then, setting his mug down, the oldmech turned around fully and smiled.

Now Prowl was able to get a better look at him. Despite the condition of his armor, he was otherwise in good shape, despite a deep gash that had offlined one optic beyond repair. His armor, a very dark, rich red, was military class, with a build that indicated he was likely sparked and raised in Iacon proper in the last age.

“That the new SIC?” he was asking, motioning with one hand toward Prowl. “He ain't even old enough to be walkin' 'round on his own, is he? I swear, Sentinel don't got a lick of sense in his processor. When'd you graduate, bitlet?”

The cutesy term for a very young protoform was not likely meant to be offensive, but Prowl felt his doors tighten back all the same. To this mech, most everyone here must've seemed almost impossibly young. “It's been roughly three decacycles now.”

Ironhide's heavy browridge arched significantly. “Primus. Back in my day, we at least waited till you weren't quite so clean behind the wings.” He grumbled a bit, then stood, striding over to offer a servo. “Well. I ain't the Prime and you were his choice, so I gotta trust his judgment. What's your name?”

“It's Prowl, sir.”

“Prowl. Well, Prowl, as you already know, I'm Ironhide. Served three full terms in the military in your pedes before retirin' and getting' hired on as military advisor to the Prime. Don't see as much action as I'd like, but...” He flashed a grin, and Prowl tipped his head faintly. The old mech must've been quite handsome in his day. “Well. Beggars can't be choosers, am I right? Here now, your shake's weak as the pit. Jazz, you been starvin' this boy?”

Jazz gave a half smile and shrugged. “Everyone seems to think I'm keepin' him from proper fuelin'. Prowl, go ahead and grab a mug. Gonna sit here with this old sack of scrap for a cycle or two.”

At first, Prowl stood awkwardly, one door lifting just slightly higher than the other. Then, he turned to head toward the containers on the walls. He really hadn't refueled since leaving the dorms, and it was starting to make him feel a little bit nauseated, so he finally sighed and nodded, stepping over in that direction. Jazz, as soon as the mech was out of audial range, slowly let his shoulders relax slightly. “...don't know about him, Ironhide.”

“Think he's too young?”

“Ain't that. He's clever as all get out, though. Notices everything, and everyone.” Jazz made a thoughtful sound, tipping his head toward Ironhide. “Sentinel wanted someone who was smart but easy to control. Prowl's certainly smart, but easy to control? I don't think that's happenin'.”

That comment caused Ironhide to swing his head around, good optic searching Jazz's face for a moment. “And I get the feelin' you agree with me that it ain't such a bad thing that Sentinel's gettin' a kid like him.”

Jazz immediately grinned. “You catch on fast, 'hide. That boy's likely to be a huge thorn in Sentinel's side, and maybe that's what it'll take to make him realize we ain't just dealin' with small fires that can be stomped out. There's ways he can fix this before it escalates.”

“Don't know that I agree with you there, but I do agree that someone needs to light a fire under that mech's aft.” The old soldier looked over at Prowl, who was standing rather awkwardly as a small yellow scout show him how the high tech dispensers in the mess worked. “...has he ever been outside'a Praxus, save for his time at the academy?”

Chuckling, Jazz shook his head. “Prob'ly not. Hey, Bumblebee! Let me handle this!”

The scout glanced over, then smiled at the black and white. “I was just trying to help out the new guy, Jazz. I guess not everyone has these new dispenser types yet.”

“Well, they are fairly new.” Prowl's expression gave away a tinge of embarrassment and Jazz couldn't help but smile at him. “The academy still had the old style...”

Bumblebee gave the most charming smile he could muster up at the larger mech, waving one hand dismissively. “It happens. Here, like I showed you. I probably oughta get going, though. I'm making a run down to Polyhex. Reports are showing there's been some activity from rebel groups in the tunnels under the city, so Sentinel's asked me to check it out.”

Surprised, Prowl gave him a careful look. “Just you? With no back-up?”

The little scout made an offended sound, though he was smiling impishly to soften the blow. “I've run worse. I even did a run solo in Kaon with the mad butcher nipping at my tailpipes.”

“...but you can't be older than me.”

“I'm probably younger, honestly. Never went to academy or anything... wound up here after rebels decimated the town I lived in. I just have a knack for getting into places the rebels don't notice, and I wanted to help.”

Ironhide grinned, reaching out to rub the top of the little scout's helm. “There ain't no finer scout than Bumblebee, and you can mark my words on that.”

A shy smile replaced the playful one on the scout's face as he ducked his head. “Didn't know you cared, Ironhide.”

The old mech puffed a bit, venting before cuffing the smaller mech's shoulder. “I ain't doin' nothin' but speakin' the truth. Go on now, git. Little troublemaker. We can handle the SIC from here.”

Bumblebee shrugged, though his cheerful expression remained, and he waved at Prowl. “You take care, mech. It can be the pit here, but I think you'll get on just fine.”

As Bumblebee weaved his way out of the mess hall, Prowl watched after him with a thoughtful expression, doors lowering slightly. This conflict had done more than he had originally anticipated, and there were levels he hadn't previously calculated into any of his simulations. He tapped his thumb faintly against the full mug cradled in his hands, and only came out of his thoughts when Jazz cleared a bit of static from his vocalizer. “You okay there, Prowl?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes, I'm fine. It just surprises me that someone so young would be used for such sensitive missions.”

Jazz snorted. “Oh, don't worry too much about Bumblebee. He's a lot faster than you think, and good at keepin' himself out of trouble. Here now, you drink up while I check a few things. You'll feel a little more stable and hopefully by then, Wheeljack'll be back.”

Prowl looked over at him curiously, as they walked toward a table. He did take a few sips of his energon before he finally asked the question. “So who is this Wheeljack?”

“He's the head engineer for the Autobots. Smart, energetic, and dangerous in his own right. His bondmate runs a free clinic near the edge of Kaon, so he spends his leave time out there. They took in a couple of sparklets several stellar cycles back... they'd be about Bumblebee's age now, I'd reckon, but they're a wild pair.”

The implication that they had taken in two sparklets, of the same age, caught Prowl's attention. “...they aren't twins, are they?”

Immediately, Jazz's demeanor shifted. Where he had previously been open and friendly, his lip plates pressed into a tight line, entire frame going extremely tense as his shoulders shifted back. “Would it be a problem if they were?”

The sudden change startled Prowl a bit and he blinked, shaking his head. “Of course not. That old superstition is absolutely useless anyway. A phenomenon of sparking cannot be held accountable for ill omens.”

Jazz seemed to relax just slightly at that as Ironhide nodded, slowly. “That's a better answer'n some've given. To be fair, they don't talk much about the boys when they're here, and I don't blame 'em. There's more than a few bots 'round here that'd take 'em to task for taking in a pair of split sparks. Ain't fair, but, well... some folks just don't have it in 'em to think for themselves.”

“Hm.” Prowl frowned, looking down at his mug. “I suppose not.”

The rest of their time in the mess hall was almost a parade of faces, some of whom he remembered seeing in recruitment videos, others that he would remember for their unusual alt modes or jobs. He was stricken, briefly, by a sense of odd familiarity with a young mech who came in as he was finishing his mug, and Jazz followed his gaze to see what he was staring at. “...ah. That's Orion Pax. He's a military historian. Sentinel's got him archiving the current database to see if he can find any information on the gladiator that's been spearheadin' this rebellion. It's busywork, but he sees it as “keepin' the kid out of trouble.” Orion's an idealist, and he's never been quiet about his disagreement with the treatment of some of the lower castes. I'm on his side with that, but that mech's not so good at keepin' his vocalizer offlined.”

“...you seem awful interested in him, though.” Ironhide chuckled. “Somethin' else on your mind?”

“No!” Prowl sat up straight, setting his empty mug down on the table a bit harder than he'd intended. “I mean... it's just that something about him seems very familiar and I can't quite place what that familiarity is.”

He frowned as the mech turned to walk off, then shook his head and stood. “We should see if your friend is back so that I will have the opportunity to meet with the Prime.”

Jazz took a moment to watch after Orion himself, but he did nod, standing with a stretch. “Sounds good. If he's back, he'll be in his workshop. Ironhide...?”

“I'll go let Sentinel know you'll be up within the joor.” The old-timer stood as well, a smile crossing his faceplate that he would have thought someone would turn on a sparklet. “You're gonna do just fine, Prowl. You got a fire in you, an' I think it'll do some good 'round here.”

With that cryptic comment, he turned on his heel and headed off, steps slow and heavy. Prowl would have followed him, curious about the intent behind his words, but Jazz had a hand on his shoulder and was steering him out a separate door. “Just gonna warn you ahead of time. Wheeljack's workshop is always a disaster. He's got so many things goin' on in his head, it's tough to keep him workin' on one project at a time...”

Prowl arched a browridge. Surely one mech couldn't be nearly as messy as Jazz was implying. It wasn't until they finally entered the workshop proper that he realized how very wrong he was, looking around at all the start-ups and half finished devices littered around benches and tables. In the middle of it, a broad shouldered mech with a mask covering the lower half of his face and siren fins placed on either side of his helm. They lit up a soothing shade of blue when he looked over at him.

“Jazz!” the mech began, siren fins flashing in time with his words, their intensity varying depending on volume and enthusiasm. “This Prowl? Everyone's talkin' about how you've got the new kid on tour of the base. Sorry I didn't get here sooner. You know how younglings are... Ratchet's got 'em well in-hand, though. Prowl, I'm Wheeljack, head of engineering. Pleased to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you.”

Though he tried very hard not to, Prowl vented heavily. “Everyone seems to have heard a great deal about me while I've heard nothing of anyone else.”

Wheeljack's fins lit up that warm, soothing shade of blue again. “You'll get used to that. It's hard to keep a secret with some of these mechs around.” He gave Jazz a pointed look, and the third in command shrugged lazily. “But in the end, they're a good lot, always ready to stand behind their companions. I rarely see any combat myself, but I sometimes help out Lathe in the medbay when things get rough. Helps that my bondmate's a medic; I may not be medically inclined myself, but he's gotten me to where I'm not completely hopeless.”

“If your mate is a medic, why is he out by Kaon instead of here in Iacon?” Prowl pressed on, even when Wheeljack visibly winced. “I'm certain the Autobots are always in need of skilled doctors.”

Wheeljack coughed a bit, the light of his fins paling somewhat. “Yeah, about that... Ratch is a surgeon, sparked in Iacon, and probably one of the best medics I've ever met... but he's a staunch pacifist. He outright refuses to let his skills be used to send mechs he's fixed right back into battle. We sorta... go out of our way to keep his location out of Sentinel's audials.”

The thought that someone would willingly withhold information from the Prime startled Prowl, and he blinked at Wheeljack, trying to decide if the engineer was being serious or not. He was wringing his servos together, the decorative wings on his back twitching faintly, and he was dedicated to not meeting Prowl's optics. Jazz was frowning, his head tipped down slightly, posture enough to indicate to Prowl that this was not a ruse. They were honestly keeping this knowledge from Sentinel Prime.

A second thought entered his calculations then. If it was not right to force someone to fight against their will, then it was certainly not their right to force a mech who disagreed with combat to serve in a capacity where he may be forced to wield a weapon. And if he was running a clinic in one of the most wretched, downtrodden places on the surface of Cybertron, then his undoubtedly considerable skill was not necessarily being squandered. It was entirely likely he had even treated some soldiers who willingly went to him for assistance, and willingly returned to the fight.

These thoughts traveled through his systems in such a short span of time that the pair of mechs standing with him didn't give it a second thought that he paused. “I understand,” he finally stated, softly. “It is his right and decision to avoid conflict. If he joins the military, it should be on his own, not at someone else's behest.”

If his reply was a surprise to Wheeljack, it seemed to settle Jazz a bit. This young mech, with all of his academy training, had a good spark in him. Wheeljack was almost literally beaming, putting his servo to his forehead. “Oh. I'm... glad to hear you say that, actually. Lot of folks think Ratch is being a coward, staying out of this. But honestly, he does a lot of good. Mechs in Kaon don't usually have access to quality medical care, and he doesn't require payment. Most of 'em bring him odd things as gifts, though. And the boys are pretty much everyone's favorites.”

“This world could use a little happiness,” Prowl admitted, smiling faintly. “Your bondmate seems to be doing his best to help people. That in itself is a noble action worthy of recognition. Take good care of him.”

Wheeljack looked a little startled at the young mech's words, but there came the warm blue glow again, and he nodded. “I'll certainly do my best. Thanks.”

Settled somewhat, Jazz let the pair talk for a few cycles before his comm beeped. As predicted, it was Sentinel, requesting the presence of the new second in command so he could finally have a chance to talk to the youngster.

He vented quietly. To be honest, from what he'd seen so far, he was starting to second guess taking Prowl to Sentinel... but at this point, he didn't have much choice left. So he lifted his head. “Prowl? Hate to interrupt, but you're bein' requested by the Prime.”

Prowl's doors swept back as Wheeljack's fins shifted in shade to a very dull, dim blue. The young mech did not look surprised, however, turning fully to face the other black and white. “We've probably kept him waiting much longer than we should have. Wheeljack, I look forward to speaking with you more in the future.”

“You too, Prowl.” Wheeljack nodded his head, trying to return the pleasant glow to his siren fins, though it was a failed gesture. “Take care.”

Jazz smiled toward the engineer, then turned to follow Prowl out of the room and toward the massive elevator that led up to the Prime's office. He could only hope this wouldn't be a massive mistake.

* * *

The closer they drew to Sentinel Prime's office, the more Prowl's doors tightened back, the tips very nearly touching together behind him when Jazz stopped him by the door. The other mech did not look at him, though Prowl was starting to realize that was common. Jazz never seemed to look at anyone, though it wasn't out of shyness. He didn't want to dwell on that right now, however; there were more important things at work.

He tried to force his doors to relax, finally managing to get them fanned and looking moderately casual. The third in command beside him pressed his servo to a comm panel. “Sentinel Prime, sir? I've brought Prowl.”

“Very good, Jazz,” a calm, stern voice from the other side answered. “Send him in.”

As the door hissed open, Jazz smiled, turning toward Prowl again. “Well, mech. Reckon I'll see you around. And relax... he doesn't bite. I promise.”

His words did little to soothe Prowl's rolling tanks. If anything, they honestly made him feel more anxious as he stepped through the door and up to the desk.

Sentinel Prime was massive, unsurprising for a Prime, but it was his sheer presence that froze Prowl on the spot at first. He was, as far as the tactician could tell, originally of Praxian build, and he stood with the sort of authority and solidity one would expect of someone in his position. It was the way his lip plates pulled down just slightly at the corners even when in a neutral expression, the very faint slump in his broad shoulders, the haggard look in dimmed optics... all of these things gave Prowl an odd sense of wrongness that he couldn't quite put a digit on.

The Prime regarded him almost dismissively before turning from him, not facing the younger mech as he spoke. “So. You are the brilliant tactician all the instructors at the academy constantly gloated about.”

“...I suppose I am, sir, though I've never thought of myself as exceptional.” Prowl gritted his dentae at the sudden, unexpected urge to make a glib remark. Surely this was a test. “My marks were considered exemplary, but I simply worked hard to achieve my standing. It is an honor to know you feel my accomplishments worthy of praise.”

Sentinel made a thoughtful sound, but he still did not turn. It was starting to grind on Prowl's nerves. “It says much about you that you do not brag about your accomplishments or consider them so grand. It is, however, those accomplishments that have found you here today as opposed to on the next transport to Praxus.” Now he turned, folding his servos behind him. “You are aware, of course, of why you were summoned...?”

Prowl hesitated as he considered his answer. Then, carefully, he replied. “I have been selected to serve as your second in command. With all due respect, however, I do not see how I could possibly be of any service to you. I have no practical experience in the field. My only experience dealing with true battlefield tactics and combat logistics were earned in simulations, not battles.”

“That is actually precisely why I chose you, Prowl.” The Prime tipped his head forward slightly. “You have a unique opportunity not only to get solid field experience, but also to provide a unique perspective on coming battles. I do not foresee anything major coming out of any of this... once we find the ringleader and crush him, the rabble will scurry back to their holes where they can be better contained. All the same, this should be enlightening for you.”

All at once, thousands of simulations began running on Prowl's battle computer, playing out scenario after scenario, and while each had varied endings, they all pointed to one inevitable conclusion.

Immediately, Prowl bristled, mostly without even meaning to. “Sir, if I may. I have run innumerable calculations on various outcomes to this conflict. Preliminary results indicate that if the skirmishes maintain their current pattern of escalation, the only possible outcome is total war. These calculations are backed by consistent data that the gladiator spearheading these efforts has thus far quite neatly evaded capture. They have complete control of Kaon, as well as several smaller city-states, and there are hundreds upon thousands of places they could hide. Simply put, continuing to pursue skirmishes instead of putting more time and effort into clearing Kaon is only delaying the inevitable.”

Sentinel gave him a very calm look. “And just how sophisticated is your battle computer, Prowl?”

Prowl pinned his doors back tightly, every bit intentional this time. “State of the art, sir. I have a full tactical and logical output relay that increases accuracy with a 3% probability of error.”

“I suppose we'll see.” He waved his hand a bit. “Report to Medic Lathe for your physical, and then rest. I will expect you to be prepared to begin tomorrow at 0700 joors. We will be having a meeting in the lower conference hall. Jazz will show you your office. You are dismissed.”

For the first time in his young life, Prowl's temper flared. Was Sentinel even listening to himself? He bit his glossa and vented as quietly as he could, counting to ten before he saluted. “Yes, sir, Sentinel Prime, sir.”

He didn't wait for further instruction from the Prime. He simply stepped out, trying to reason why Sentinel had behaved so.

He didn't have an answer.

* * *

It was something of a relief when he did finally arrive back in the medbay. Aside from a few injured soldiers being kept in induced stasis until their internal repair systems could complete their work and the little chief medic, it was deserted. Lathe turned to look at him when he walk in, and her faceplate brightened immediately as she smiled. “Well! I was starting to think you'd forgotten about your physical.”

“1700 joors, am I correct? It is presently 1700 joors, on the olfactory.” He gave a half smile when she sniffed at him. “I apologize if you wished someone a touch more punctual. I was delayed finding my way back through this maze to get here.”

Lathe's sigh was long-suffering, though it was clear she wasn't really angry. She motioned him to a bench, going to grab a few scanners and a tray of small devices. “Only here a day and already you're sassing your physician. Tsk. And here you're supposed to be our second in command. For shame.”

He laughed, just slightly, allowing himself to settle a bit in her presence. The medic had seemed the most reasonable of all the bots he'd met today, and though he bore no ill will toward Bumblebee or Ironhide, the chief medical officer was a bit easier to feel relaxed around. “I shall endeavor to be less difficult for you in the future, Doctor.”

“You'd better,” she scolded, waving a scanner in his face. “Or you're gonna be in big trouble.” A moment passed and she blinked up at him. “...you do know I'm teasing, right?”

All at once, Prowl outright laughed, an expression crossing his face that simultaneously softened him and made him look his age. For all the talent and skill everyone insisted he had, Prowl was so young, and it was nice to see him smile. “I know you're teasing. I am sorry if I'm running a bit late...”

Her expression softened again and she shook her head, hooking up his arm to one of the scanners. “Oh, it's no trouble. Only one in here right now other than you is Hot Rod.” She glanced over at the Autobot in stasis on the table. “He's mostly all right. One of the new recruits... came here straight from academy too, though at boot camp level. He's an incredible shot with that energy bow of his, but he's a little fearless and a lot reckless. I'm not sure how those two he travels with deal with him.”

Prowl shook his head. “It takes all kinds, I suppose. Hopefully they can break him of being too much of a show-off. It wouldn't do for him to end up getting himself killed.”

“Oh, believe me, Kup is trying. Have you met him yet?” She nodded a bit when Prowl shook his head. “Thought not. He's usually out with the new recruits. Serves as a drill sergeant... career military. Where Ironhide retired, he kept right on going. They're still good friends, as I understand it.”

For the most part, Prowl stayed quiet while she talked, telling him about this or that Autobot, until he finally furrowed his brow ridge, watching as she started attaching electrodes to his chestplate. “And what about you? How did you wind up here?”

She blinked, looking a bit startled by the question. “Me? Oh. Well, I'm sure it's the sort of story you've heard a thousand times before... and besides, my creator's physician was one of the best surgeons in Iacon before the uprisings started. He was the one who encouraged me to take up medicine as a career choice. As it turns out, I had a knack for it! How about you?” She picked up her scanner, peeking up at him. “You're from Praxus, so you can't have been in very dire straits.”

“I suppose I owe you that much.” Prowl shifted where he sat, adjusting his doors so they rested low on his back. “My creators were enforcers, so their career choices impacted my own in many ways. I was designed custom, almost entirely. I had entertained, briefly, a job in politics... running numbers and the like. But I saw a greater purpose in the military, hence why I enrolled in the academy. As to how I ended up here...”

Lathe hummed thoughtfully, watching the screen in her servos. “That part I know. Your scores got you singled out by the Prime himself. I do wonder if he made the right call.” As Prowl's expression turned somewhat offended, the little medic made a startled sound, jerking her head up. She felt her faceplates heating up, embarrassed at what had come out of her vocalizer. “Oh Primus I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it to sound like that. I mean... it just seems like wasted potential! No, that's not right either- I mean that you have a lot of life left ahead of you and the fact that he recruited you so young seems unfair!”

Any offense he'd felt melted somewhat, and at last Prowl chuckled, reaching out to pat her arm somewhat awkwardly. “No, Lathe, it's all right. I understand. No need to apologize, really. I have to admit, I was... apprehensive at first myself. Surely there must be others who are much better qualified, right? But I'm here now, and there's really not much else I can do but roll with it and do my best.”

“That's all anyone CAN do, given the circumstances.” The awkward smile on Lathe's lip plating shifted to one a bit more genuine. “You check out all clear, by the way. Fit as a fiddle.” One by one, she popped the electrodes off, setting them aside to be cleaned. “...I'd like to make it up to you. I mean... do something as a sort of apology for what I said. Listen, my team and I sometimes hit up Maccadam's after our shifts. Why don't you join us sometime? Have a drink or two.”

It was Prowl's turn to look a little uneasy, only half smiling. “While I would love to take you up on your offer, I've... never actually had any high grade before.”

Lathe just smiled, patting his arm, not unlike how he had before. “I promise we won't make you drink if you don't want to. You're welcome to come for the company as much as the refreshments.”

His first instinct was to reject, but at the same time, they were both officers... and her assistants would be there as well. All things considered, what was wrong with a harmless excursion with friends? “Fine then, Lathe. Just name the day and I'm there.”

She smiled at him, and for the first time since he'd arrived, the smile Prowl offered in return was genuine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Prowl works his way through his first orn as Sentinel Prime's first lieutenant, the cracks start to become more obvious...

The small clinic near the edge of Kaon was quiet, but for now, it was the perfect place for him to get his thoughts in order. It had been some time now since Jetfire had gone missing, and still the pain had not ebbed. He remained in the Elite Guard headquarters as often as he could, but being there when the council saw fit to call him aside for some trivial matter was unbearable. They had told him, to his face, that they lacked the resources to search for his partner. Told him this after they'd squandered the same resources to send he and his partner on that failed mission! The councilors still had the gall to tell him the resources were worth losing someone's life for, but not for saving it.

Starscream was not amused.

So here he sat in the small free clinic on the fringes of the worst place on the planet, graceful wings pinned pack neatly, servos pressed together with digits laced together. He heard someone approaching, steps much too light and graceful to be the bulky medic, who was likely out with those two boys of his. So this must be...

“Thundercracker.” He lifted his head slightly to look at the other flier, who was regarding him with a carefully schooled expression. “I didn't come here for pity, you know.”

The other seeker frowned, folding his arms tightly over his chestplate. “You came here for stims. You know, Starscream, I've helped you out a lot-”

Smiling graciously, the older of the pair inclined his head forward, interrupting Thundercracker without a second thought. “For which I owe you a great deal, my friend.”

Thundercracker's wings pinned back so tightly that it almost looked painful. “I still think you ought to talk to Ratchet. His mate's in the Prime's inner circle. They could see about doing something to find Jetfire.” When Starscream's mild, carefully held expression turned sour, he backed off a bit. “...I just don't like seeing a dear friend in so much pain. You know that.”

Starscream didn't meet his optics for a moment, scowling at a particularly uninteresting spot on the floor. At this point, it had been so long since Jetfire had been missing that he was starting to worry he'd forgotten the sound of the scientist's voice. They'd only been chosen because they were fliers... otherwise Perceptor likely would have been chosen over his partner.

His wings twitched again and he frowned, tipping his head up to look into Thundercracker's optics at last. “I appreciate all you've done, but I've no interest in dealing with your medic's hollow apologies and empty promises. Sentinel Prime is a fool... a puppet of the council. No amount of begging from one of his “inner circle” is going to change that.” He waved away the suggestion. “No. I just need another round of stims so that I may get through my next set of shifts. Then, perhaps with a bit of dentae gritting, I can ignore the emptiness and move on with my miserable life until someone in this Primus-forsaken wasteland puts me out of my misery.”

Thundercracker stood very quiet for a moment. “...you don't really mean that.”

“And if I did?” Starscream's expression, and tone, were very sour. “What in all this world is there for me to hold on to? Some dismal hope that the council may eventually decide it's a fine idea to send a search party for a mech they hold no regard for? He was “only a scientist,” after all. One of the finest minds in the field when the matters of alien biology came into play, but I have been made to understand quite clearly that such a thing is... trivial.”

The two seekers were quiet after that, the younger watching his senior quietly, until the sound of the door opening and someone else walking in caught the attention of both. Starscream, as it stood, couldn't help but stare, despite the fact that Thundercracker seemed largely unbothered. Perhaps the mech had been there before?

His form, massive and intimidating, was unsettling and familiar. The mech from the pit vids they had been studying in Iacon, perhaps? No one actually knew his name. He wore a miner's helm, his dull gray armor scuffed and chipped, deep red optics burning into the seeker the instant he caught him staring. And true, it was hard to look away. The mech regarded him coldly for several moments before his attention turned to Thundercracker.

“Ratchet isn't in at the moment, Megatronus,” he stated. “He should be back soon, though, if you'd like to wait...?”

The gladiator hesitated, then nodded and sat, directly across the room from Starscream. He remained entirely silent at first, though his attention returned to the elder seeker almost immediately. When Thundercracker stepped out of the room to grab the items Starscream had requested, he finally spoke. “You are from Vos, are you not?”

Starscream jerked his head up, honestly startled. The gladiator's voice was soft, and he spoke in low, smoky tones that just edged on the borders of rough, sending an unnerving chill down his spinal relay. “...I was not sparked in Vos, no. Though my build is Vosian in origin, and Vos was in fact the home city-state of my creators, I was sparked in Polyhex.”

“A... transplant, then.” He nodded, slowly. “Fascinating.”

The seeker gave him a cautious look. “And you? You are a gladiator from Kaon. Why would my origin be of any interest to you?”

The mech shrugged faintly, almost dismissive. “It simply seems somewhat bizarre to me that someone such as yourself would align himself with those not of your own ilk. The seekers, as I was made aware in my youth, always seemed to me a rather self-contained lot.”

“We make adjustments and sacrifices as necessary.”

“And have those... adjustments and sacrifices been satisfactory for you, youngling?” He smiled slightly when Starscream frowned. “You are displeased with the Autobots. I do see you do not wear their shield.”

Indignantly, Starscream flipped back his wings, sitting up slightly straighter. “I am a noncombatant. As such, I am not required to wear the shield.”

The gladiator made a thoughtful sound, then lifted one servo to point a clawed digit a the artfully crafted cannon on one of Starscream's arms. “And yet you carry weapons.”

“For self protection, of course.”

“Of course.”

The two fell silent for several moments, but while the gladiator had turned to watch intently out a nearby window, Starscream instead watched the gladiator. That someone so massive, with his powerful build and dingy, tattered armor, could speak with such calm, tactful grace was fascinating by itself. It was the voice of a mech who could talk someone into walking willingly into a smelting pool, and if a bot wasn't careful, they would do so gladly, cheering his name. For such a clever orator, with a honeyed voice like thunder rolling over the Sea of Rust, finding others to dedicate their arms – their sparks – to his cause was likely not as difficult as the Prime had assumed.

This, Starscream reasoned, was no “simple” Kaonian brute. Whatever his origins or how he wound up low in the mines, now rising to the role of beloved gladiatorial hero, this Megatronus was clearly of the mind that he could shatter the world, and Starscream himself had no doubt he would achieve much. It was a moment or two before he realized the gladiator had turned back to him, watching him thoughtfully.

“Am I so interesting to you, Seeker?”

“You are... unusual. I have seen vid captures of you in Iacon. I suppose I wonder why you bring yourself here for repair. The doctor who runs this clinic is mated to one of the Prime's inner circle.”

The shrug he received in response was looser this time. “Ratchet is a fine medic and one I have long trusted. He has no interest for the politics in Iacon, and as of yet is unaware of my involvement with... events in Kaon. The same goes of his young assistant. So long as I come here when it is only him and the bitlets, I fear no repercussion. That aside, even if he knew, the mech is sworn to his oath. He would not break the confidentiality of a patient.” He leaned back, servos resting lightly on his knees. “And what of you? You are the lead scientist for the Autobots.” A grin crossed his faceplate. “Don't look so surprised. You assumed no one would recognize you, Starscream? I pay a great deal of attention to the events in Iacon. As I understand, you were recently part of a failed off-world excursion... and your partner was lost. Do you not fear the mate of this medic will reveal you've come here for illegal stims, to ease the pain of a sparkbond not quite severed...?”

Starscream stiffened immediately, words turning to ice in his vocalizer as he all but spat them at the would-be revolutionary. “You seem to see far more than I expected, Megatronus.”

“I pay attention because it has the potential of benefiting me. How else would I have survived this long?” He leaned back again. “You did not answer my question.”

This time, Starscream hesitated. Honestly, he came here because he knew Thundercracker from their youth, and he trusted the young mech to keep his lip plates sealed about why he came at all. He had, of course, met the old doctor several times, seen the sparklets he and his mate had brought up, and they had never given him any trouble... even if the red and yellow pair of bitlets were troublemakers and heathens at times. He was, however, always careful not to cross paths with Wheeljack when he came this way. While the medic was, truthfully, bound by an oath of confidence, the engineer shared no such incentive for silence, and he refused to lose his title to that addle-processored buffoon's loose glossa.

If the mech even had a glossa left in the destroyed remnants of his face under that mask.

He tapped his fingers against his thigh, then shook his head. “Wheeljack is not particularly intuitive about such matters, and I know the times he is here. The engineering corps and the science corps often work servo in servo, so to speak.” His head lifted. Thundercracker was walking back in. “...in the end, I suppose we are alike. Cautious... and waiting.”

The younger seeker blinked as his compatriot stood, holding out his hand for the container he held. “Am I interrupting...?”

“No, Thundercracker, you were not.” Starscream gave him a smile far too gentle for his sharp, keen face. “Do not worry yourself. I was just leaving.” He curled long digits around the container, giving the gladiator one last look. “I wish you well, warrior. Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

Megatronus just smiled. “Indeed, my friend. Perhaps they shall.”

* * *

At 0600 joors the following morning, Prowl started to force himself awake. He still felt tired, despite having gotten more than the necessary amount of recharge, and he really had no reason for it. Of course, recharging in an unfamiliar place was likely playing a large part of it.

He rubbed his servos over his faceplates, sitting in silence at the edge of his bed as he tried to gather his thoughts. Today was his first meeting with Sentinel Prime's command staff, so he had to at least look relatively awake. In his processor, he went over the command staff he knew. Sentinel Prime was the obvious answer, with himself as second in command. The heads of medical, engineering, and science would be there... and Ironhide, of course, being the Prime's military advisor. The final bot to be present should be, if he hadn't been lying through his dentae to the Praxian, Jazz – as third in command. He was still having a great deal of difficulty wrapping his head around that concept.

His knowledge so far of the mech was that he was well liked by most of the Autobots he'd seen thus far, but that on its own wasn't nearly enough to consider him in any way worth the effort others put into him. He didn't look anyone in the optic, which could really go one of two ways in his opinion of him, and the way he carried himself was sloppy and unprofessional. Honestly, Prowl would almost go as far as to say the mech was something of a sham. Why Sentinel Prime kept him on at all was beyond him.

Sighing, he stood and took a look around the room. Unsurprisingly for the private quarters of a high ranking military officer, the room was quite spacious, and his sparse belongings barely even made the place seem at all lived in. There was a desk to one side, a place to keep personal effects, and even a private washrack.

That stopped him for a moment and he glanced down at himself. He wouldn't have considered himself dirty, but he was to be introduced to and speaking in front of several important mechs today. His doors drooped as he ran one finger across the crisp, newly painted red shield, indicating his faction allegiance.

No, he really should... and he still had almost a full joor. More than enough time to get cleaned up.

The room was large, and he was honestly very pleased to step inside it when he did. Unlike the washracks at the academy's dorms, this one was empty of noise and bustle, giving him a pleasant sense of aloneness. A sharp, clean smell reached his olfactory sensors, and for several moments, he just stood and enjoyed the warmth and the oddly comforting sterility.

Finally, he stepped over to the panel and got the cleaning fluids to running, standing under the hot spray and letting it run down his armor, into seams and cracks, for once trying to lose himself in the feeling. His processor felt overloaded, pinging in time with the constant patter of solutions against his frame. Graceful doors twitched back, just slightly.

What had he gotten himself into? For all his high marks, for his grades and his scores, he was a mere protoform compared to many of these mechs. Despite the warmth of the liquid coating his slim frame, he shivered, tipping his head forward. He was here to try to be their equal, but they were – far and away – out of his league.

A low groan, frustrated and lost, escaped his vocalizer as he reached out to grab a rag, scrubbing at a few problem spots before switching to the rinse spray. He would have to keep his focus, despite the sick feeling that kept sinking deep into his tanks and eating at his insides. He would stop by the mess on the way to the conference hall, grab a mug of energon... and just focus.

He tried to focus on the warm softness of the drying cloth when he started rubbing away the collected moisture and not on the meeting that was coming. At least here he was in control of what was to come next.

Finally, he sighed, flipping back his doors as neatly as he could. Now was as good a time as ever. He was completely dried off, armor starting to cool slightly as he stepped out of the washrack. He collected a datapad from the desk, containing the notes he'd been referring to earlier, and stepped out of the room, nearly walking right into Jazz, whose servo was lifted to knock.

The other mech took several steps back before reaching out to steady the young SIC. “Whoa, sorry, Prowl! My quarters are just up the hall and I figured I'd check and see if you were up.”

“It is 0630 joors right now, Jazz,” Prowl responded, managing through no small feat to keep the irritation out of his voice. “I was planning on going by the mess to grab a mug of energon before heading on to the conference hall.”

Jazz grinned, clapping a servo onto his shoulder. “Well, then, I'll walk with you! Don't gotta worry too much about bein' on time... Wheeljack and Ironhide are always late, and Starscream generally gets there right on the cycle without a nanosecond to spare.”

The fact that more than a few high ranking officers were always late to meetings honestly surprised Prowl a little bit, and he frowned. “Isn't that odd that several officers continue to be late on a regular basis...?”

“Eh, not so much. Starscream gets a little bit of a pass since his mate... well, it's a long story. Wheeljack spends nights out at Ratchet's clinic, so we all cover for him when he runs late, and Ironhide's older than rust.” He shrugged. “It's honestly not worth bothering.”

Prowl turned his head toward him, frowning and giving him a rather dark look. Jazz still didn't look at him. Why was the mech so afraid to just turn his head toward someone and look them in the optics? “...how is it not worth bothering? This is a military headquarters, is it not?”

Jazz nodded, seeming to completely ignore the tightness in Prowl's voice. “It is. But we aren't exactly in the middle of a military operation. Unless either that gladiator or the Prime declares war, we're under control of the council.”

“And what has the council done about some of the more pressing matters so far with this rebellion? The cities, people, and lives lost? Kaon falls deeper into depravity and poverty with each passing day, and the other rebel controlled cities are faring no better.”

Finally, Jazz turned his head toward him, but Prowl had a feeling he still wasn't looking him in the optic. “Those are questions it may not necessarily be safe to ask, Prowl. But I'll answer 'em later, if you're still interested.”

Startled into silence, Prowl followed him quietly the rest of the way to the mess hall. There were small clusters of early risers about, some waving to early patrol scouts and others preparing for their days. A tall, graceful flier stood across the room, mostly avoiding the gaze of anyone who came near as he stood and watched quietly out a nearby window. By the energon dispensers stood a few of the medics, one of which was Lathe.

Prowl actually felt himself smile a bit when he saw the femme. She was wide awake and clearly in an overall pleasant mood, laughing at a joke one of her compatriots had told her as she cradled a mug in her small hands. He stepped away from Jazz to grab a mug from near where the small group was standing, clearing static out of his vocalizer. “Good morning, everyone. I hope you recharged well.”

Lathe's faceplate lit up with a pleasant smile as a few of the other medics chuckled or grinned at her. “Good morning, Prowl! I was worried you wouldn't even want to stand near me after that physical I gave you yesterday.”

“I've had worse,” he admitted. “You do your job well, doctor. We're lucky to have you as part of the unit.”

Another one of the medics rubbed the top of Lathe's helm with friendly affection. “Give her an orn or two and you'll want to throw her off the roof.”

She made a face up at him. “Oh stop, Gadget. Do you see what I have to put up with? They're like a bunch of protoforms, honestly.” Lathe sighed deeply, then smiled again. “Still, though, I do feel a bit bad for... well, for how things went I suppose. The boss insists on absolute caution and care, though! You're the quietest patient I've ever had, that's for certain. Jazz whines at me the entire time he's on the table.”

“You wound me, femme,” Jazz sighed, putting on such a pout as his doors drooped. “Here I am introducin' you to a nice mech and you're draggin' me into the rust.”

Lathe stuck out her glossa at him, nose plating lifting up. “I'm not being dishonest, now, am I? And on top of that, Prowl is going to join us for drinks later this orn.”

The medic who had spoken before made an appreciative sound. “Is that so? Well, that changes things. Just don't forget to tell Sprocket. She'll get jealous when she realizes another mech's got your optic.”

The little femme spun, punching Gadget hard in the arm. “You are terrible! This is not a date; it is drinks with friends! You are such a chore!” She frowned hard up at the mech, servos resting on her hip armor as she huffed. “In any case, we have an officers' meeting to get to. Gadget, could you make sure Sprocket cleans up her station? I don't want another mess left. We've got some scouts coming in from Tyger Pax, and I don't want them to have to get treated in the middle of a pile of junk that could contaminate their systems.”

“You got it, docbot,” Gadget replied, popping off a salute. “Jazz, I'll be seeing you around. Prowl? It was nice to meet you, however briefly, though I'm sure I'll see you again soon enough.”

The other medics waved as Lathe got energon poured for herself and Prowl, pushing a mug into his servos before leading the way off down the hall. “You'll have to forgive Gadget. He's weird, but friendly, and a very talented medic. “

Prowl glanced after him. “...well. That's a relief, I suppose...”

“And really one of the only boons to his nature.” The new voice startled Prowl into spinning on his heel, finding himself looking up. The very tall mech standing over him was a flier base, and – from the look of him – definitely a seeker. He'd only seen their ilk once or twice, passing through Praxus, as most of them originated in the distant, isolated city-state of Vos. This one, however, stood with a thoughtful expression on his smooth, carefully crafted faceplate. “My apologies. I did not mean to startle you.”

Not surprisingly, despite having been as startled as the others, Jazz's cheerful, amiable demeanor did not fade, and he turned lazily to smile up at their unexpected guest. “Starscream! I was startin' to wonder when you were gonna show up. Late night again...?”

There was a soft undertone of sympathy, and though Jazz may not have noticed, Prowl paid close attention to how the seeker drew his elegant wings back and up, showing his disdain. “If it was, it is of no concern to you, Jazz. Though I do... appreciate any worry you may have spared over me.”

“You've been through a lot. Can't help but worry where mechs I know are involved.” At last, Jazz turned toward Prowl, still smiling. “Prowl, as I don't think you've been properly introduced, this here is Starscream. He's the head of the science division.”

The seeker gave a graceful bow, wings drawing taut, the smile on his faceplate seeming cut into his features with a dagger. He was like a cornered turbofox, Prowl realized, coiled and ready to strike at any aggressor. His smile never shifted or lost its stiffness, and the young tactician decided this mech was one to keep a close watch on. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Prowl. Sentinel spoke very highly of you when discussing your placement, though to replace Tripwire is quite a task. I do hope you are up to the challenge.”

“A pleasure to meet you as well, Starscream... though you have me at a disadvantage, as I don't believe I'd heard more than your name before now, but I am certain it will be interesting to work with you.” He tipped his head forward in a polite semblance of a bow. “However in the meantime, we really should continue on to the conference hall. Surely Sentinel Prime will be waiting for us.”

* * *

He was right that the commander was waiting, surprisingly patient, in the conference room when they entered. Wheeljack and Ironhide had not yet arrived, and the three officers standing there were so far the first. Sentinel nodded politely to each one, motioning for them to sit. “Chromia sent me a message indicating Ironhide will be along shortly. There was an issue last night with the recruits at training and he went to assist Kup in making certain things went smoothly. Unfortunately, it ran later than expected and he remained in recharge through his alarm. Wheeljack is also en route.”

“If it wasn't for Chromia, that mech'd be an absolute walking mess,” Lathe sighed. “She's the only reason he gets to his check-ups on time too.”

Realizing Prowl looked somewhat puzzled, Jazz smiled at him. “Chromia's Ironhide's bondmate, and one of our weaponless combat instructors. Not the femme you'd want to mess with, but she's a real friendly sort.”

Prowl nodded. “Well, it is good Ironhide has someone to keep him on track, then.” He glanced over when Wheeljack trotted in, venting and puffing through slightly flared armor. “...and it is good to see you, Wheeljack. Better late than never, I suppose.”

“Sorry, sorry! The trip back took a lot longer than I expected. Fighting around the edges of Kaon.” He sounded worried, and Jazz half stood. “No, no, my mate's fine, and so are our boys. They're stayin' at the apartment till things blow over, and then they'll head down to the shop. He's gonna comm me once things are clear.”

Though he hesitated, Jazz did finally sit back down, just as Ironhide trotted in with a sheepish grin and an apology to all those gathered. Once everyone had found their seats, Sentinel began. “I would like to start off by welcoming Prowl to our ranks. As most of you have already been made aware, he holds the rank Tripwire once did. Second in command, and my first lieutenant.” After everyone had nodded, understanding, he continued. “I had hoped this meeting would be brief, only going over tracked movement of the rebels... however, at 0650 joors, I received an urgent message that Tyger Pax was under attack. I've sent teams to intercept and try to mitigate damage, but we may need to send in the rescue teams to get refugees and injured soldiers to safety. It is too early to know, but Lathe, I want you to have your team prepared for immediate transport should the current mission go south.”

She saluted, but Prowl frowned. “If I may, sir... will anyone be accompanying the rescue team?”

Sentinel Prime gave a nod. “Yes. A few scouts and a small combat force will accompany them into the city, and provide cover for any operations in the area. As of the moment, I am uncertain as to whether we will need to activate the rescue team at all. I simply want Lathe's team prepared to move should they be needed.”

“I'll make sure they're all ready. Sprocket and Gadget are all on duty today, so I can let them know as soon as the meeting is adjourned.” Lathe folded her hands in front of her. “I hope our bots do well out there and we don't need to deploy, however.”

Again, the Prime nodded. “As do I, Doctor. But there are times hope fails us, and this could prove to be one of those times.” He nodded slowly. “Does anyone else have anything to report?”

Ironhide lifted a servo. “The cadets are settled again after the incident last night. Seems someone thought it'd be wise to rough up a recruit from Kaon and Hot Rod got himself into a fight tryin' to protect them... again. Got it cleaned up and Hot Rod's on grease trap duty for the next two orn.”

“I see. Please let the youngling know that while I appreciate his attempt to provide some assistance to his fellow cadets, his methods will continue to result in disciplinary action. Grievances with cadets should be taken to Kup, and in any instance where he cannot be reached, Jazz or Smokescreen are viable alternatives.” Ironhided nodded to him, and the Prime shifted, looking over the gathered faces. “Any other reports...?”

This time, it was Starscream, lifting a servo as Ironhide had. “We are continuing to make progress in determining the origin of the biological weapon the rebels used when Tyger Pax first came under attack. However, with the loss of my partner, I have had to train up the new recruit Perceptor. This has, understandably, created setbacks.”

Prowl turned his head toward Sentinel, wanting to see how the Prime reacted. He still didn't know a great deal about what had happened to Starscream's partner, but judging by the scientist's demeanor and tone, he was holding a considerable amount of irritation and bitterness over it. The Prime was silent for several moments. “As I have stated before, Starscream, I do feel for your predicament, what with the loss of Jetfire. However, it would take more time and resources to seek out and locate your partner than it presently does to train up Perceptor. I apologize. I will continue trying to see if an alternate solution can be found.”

The seeker's wings snapped back so sharply that their click drew the attention of more than a couple mechs in the room. Prowl didn't turn himself, though he did glance at Jazz, who was focused intently on the infuriated scientist. “Hey, 'scream, if you've got a bit after we're done here, let's talk. May give you some peace of processor.”

Starscream didn't necessarily seem appeased, but he did nod, giving the impression that he would at least hear the mech out. Prowl wanted to inquire, but already Wheeljack was speaking up, and the young tactician settled in for the duration of the meeting.

Once the conference was adjourned and they were dismissed, he followed Sentinel out into the hall, watching as Jazz led Starscream off in a separate direction, speaking to him in hushed tones. He would have followed out of curiosity, but a small servo was on his arm, pulling him in a different direction entirely. “So I suppose there's been a change of plans,” Lathe sighed. “I don't know if we're going to get deployed today, but how about we move up that trip to the bar? We can go right after our shifts are up. Sound good?”

The bar? Prowl was momentarily confused. Then, the previous evening's conversation dawned on him. Her invitation to go to Maccadam's! “Oh! I apologize, Lathe, I'd... I wish I was not about to say I'd forgotten, but I truly did. I'm so sorry.”

A slow grin crossed the medic's faceplates, her optics brightening. “Did I manage to catch you off guard? That's one for the record books, considering how everyone talks about that tactical runtime you have.” She giggled when he made a disgruntled sound, patting his arm. “Shhh I'm just teasing. How about it, though? Are we on for tonight?”

He almost rejected her, but the sweet, glowing smile on her features cut right through him. “Of course we're on. I'll meet you in the medbay once my shift is up.”

“Great!” She squeezed his servo in hers. “I'm looking forward to it, Prowl. See you later!”

She was off down the hall just like that, and he stood rather dazed for a moment, doors slowly lowering on his back as he watched her go. A strange whirlwind of emotions shook him to his spark at the sudden realization that yes, he really was doing this. Could he call it a date? Yes, he really did suppose it was. He hadn't really focused on any sort of interaction with his classmates when he was still at the academy. He never saw the need. But Lathe was so energetic and bubbly and full of life that he felt drawn in by her presence, even in all this mess that frustrated him so badly.

Flipping his wings up with a faint smile, he turned to head for his office. Perhaps the day wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

Even as the tactician was heading back to his office with a pleasant mindset to truly begin his day, Jazz was heading to his own in order to think. Though in actuality, he supposed one really couldn't consider his office an office. He always found a dark corner of the rec room the most hospitable to his deepest thoughts, and he was quiet as he retreated there, a mug of energon in his hands, expression dark. Starscream was, understandably, very upset. He couldn't imagine what it must be like, to be separated by uncountable lengths of distance from the mech that shared a pulse with his spark. He knew Jetfire wasn't dead, but the depth of his stasis lock kept him from even reaching out with the gentlest of assurances, and it was driving the seeker half mad.

At this point, Jazz would not be surprised if he defected. He'd kept tabs on the most likely ones to do so, in any case, and had been right on enough occasions that he'd stopped reporting names of possible deserters to Sentinel. There had been that clever, hard hitting Wrecker – wasn't Breakdown his name? – who had vanished into the Kaon wastes one night and reappeared several orn later in the company of the maniac medic most referred to as the “mad butcher of Kaon,” a rebel supporter. There were more, but somehow he seemed the most poignant.

Sentinel Prime was a large chunk of the problem, of course, though he had no honest clue how to deal with him short of ways that would undoubtedly be frowned upon. He knew that new mech Prowl could see it too, but for as sweet as he sounded and as smart as he seemed, he just wasn't sure yet if he could trust the young mech. No, for now, he would have to rely on his own information and the optics and audials of his own little crew.

He had a date of his own that night, in fact. A young former noble, the Prince of the Crystal City, who would not allow himself to be seen within the walls of the Elite Guard HQ. He had his reasons, of course, and Jazz couldn't fault him for those. And it wasn't like he was unpleasant to be with, either. His very nature was absolutely beautiful, to say nothing of what he'd heard of his body. He belonged to another, though, and Jazz would never push, whether or not someone was involved with another.

Other bots came and went, some stopping to say hello, others not even minding that Jazz was sitting in that corner. He listened to everything, from people's opinion of the new SIC – most thought he was simply too young for the position while others felt he seemed too stiff. Which was, in reality, a very valid point. The young mech was truthfully exceptionally brilliant, but...

He paused, tipping his head. He had heard Sentinel talking about how the boy had “back talked” him in regards to how he felt the war was going to go. That was something Tripwire never would have done, and perhaps if Prowl kept up that sort of behavior, there'd be some hope in this whole horrible mess after all. Sighing, he sat up straight, sipping his energon as his tanks started to sour. True, there was the chance that Prowl would step up to the plate and try to talk Sentinel down from his behavior, but there was an equal – and more disquieting – chance that Sentinel would manage to brow beat that resistance right out of him. It was no secret Jazz had been one of the ones to support the idea of bringing Prowl on, but the more he considered it, the more he worried it was a mistake. Hadn't enough lives been ruined by this war already?

Setting aside his mug, Jazz sighed and stood up. He needed some air and some space. This wasn't a problem to approach lightly, and for all he knew he absolutely needed to exercise caution, action also had to be quick and deftly executed. The real question was what he should do, and if he waited, who knew what calamity could result?

* * *

The day, for the most part, had gone relatively well for Prowl. He'd spent a large chunk of it going over Tripwire's files and reorganizing the office, which he'd been able to best describe as organized chaos, into something resembling a sense of order. He at first had been rather pleased to have such a quiet day to simply focus on things that weren't Sentinel's seeming lack of concern for the true menace behind all this mess, but as the day wore on and he delved deeper and deeper into the files, he could feel his mood turning as the cables in his neck and shoulders began to bunch in agitation.

Mishandled incident reports, underplayed data about the location and activities of the rebels... and mixed among the files, datapads from a mysterious “Striker” who seemed to have an entire team of operatives moving under assumed names, feeding information back to an Autobot command that seemed to completely ignore the reality of the threats.

He frowned the deeper he got into the datapads. There were stacks upon stacks from the mysterious bot known as Striker, detailing potential rebel movement, information on possible defectors and those acting as double agents... whoever this Striker was, they seemed to have a digit on the pulse of the active rebellion. Had Sentinel seen any of these? Surely he must have. Did he care, however? Therein was the rub.

The next set of files seemed to have originally been encrypted, but someone had broken their seal within orn after Tripwire's death. They were logs, personal journals, dating back to two or three vorn prior. Most of it appeared to just be venting about the frustrating day to day as the rebellion truly started to kick in over in Kaon, but the entries of the last vorn before his death were... unsettling, to say the least. It was like the mech was slowly descending into paranoia. He wrote of mandatory visits with Smokescreen, who Prowl remembered having seen in the mess, a gentle voiced Praxian in the medical unit who served as the force's therapist. He wrote of messages from the enigmatic Striker, trying to bolster his confidence, and the constant night terrors that rendered those messages useless.

Sentinel, the old first lieutenant had recorded, was a pawn, acting mostly at the behest of Senator Ratbat and Ratbat's assistant, Soundwave. Because of this, he willfully ignored the signs. He could have prevented the fall of the crystal city, which had been written off as in-fighting among the noble houses (even Prowl had found that assessment of the spires' ultimate destruction somewhat lacking). The attack on Senator Decimus after the closure of Mine T-13 near the Sea of Rust. All preventable, if Sentinel would just listen!

One full lunar past, Tripwire had suffered a catastrophic system meltdown, which Smokescreen diagnosed as being the result of stress. The next orn, he was dead... the result of an apparent suicide.

His doors flipped back tightly at that. Apparent suicide? He grabbed his own personal datapad, flipping through information on Tripwire's death and the investigation surrounding it. The mech had been under steadily increasing amounts of stress through the entirety of the time he had written the last of these journals, and he frequently mentioned hearing a high pitched buzz in his vicinity. The last entry talked of how he was going to talk to someone the next day... Ratbat's assistant.

The next day, Tripwire had thrown himself from the roof of the Elite Guard central HQ building, plummeting forty-two stories to his death on the courtyard below.

It didn't add up. While stressed and clearly suffering from the effects of that stress, nothing in the writings indicated any sort of suicidal tendencies. He was determined and exhausted, but never once did he indicate he wanted to kill himself. There was so much more to this story than what the investigators assigned to it suggested, and he was starting to seriously wonder if this had truly been a suicide. How much had they left out? Had they even checked the rooftop? Questioned Soundwave? It wasn't as though they could perform a thorough autopsy. He had fallen a considerable distance, and the cause of death would have been obvious.

He vented heavily, frowning. He couldn't focus too much on this right now, but he could file it away for future reference. He picked up the most relevant of the stack of datapads, stashing them away in subspace before standing. He had a few stops to make before he met up with Lathe after their shift, after all... plenty of time to get some work in.

* * *

Well... he hadn't been properly introduced, but the archives were the best place to start. Prowl stepped into the large, well lit room, blinking as his optics had to rapidly adjust to the change in light intensity. He could see the frame of the young archivist near one set of databanks, though to be honest, he was somewhat hard to miss. Orion Pax was tall and slim in build, with stark red, blue, and white coloring that stood out among the duller or more outlandishly colored bots in the base. He hadn't heard Prowl come in, apparently, as when he did turn, it was to look for a particular marked disc on a separate shelf.

“Excuse me.” Prowl spoke up only when he was in a spot clearly visible to the mech, whether or not he had actually noticed him. Orion actually jumped a bit at the sound of the other mech's voice, startled out of his distraction, turning vivid optics on the tactician. “I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you. My name is Prowl, I'm-”

“The new first lieutenant to Sentinel. I've heard, and you've been recorded already.” Despite having interrupted, Prowl couldn't really feel any anger. The archivist was smiling, features soft and unassuming. “My apologies. I shouldn't have interrupted, but I didn't want you to feel you had to continue your introduction when I was already aware of who you are. My name is Orion Pax, by the way... I am the Prime's historical archivist.”

Prowl allowed himself a smile at that. “It's a pleasure, Orion Pax. I hope I'm not interrupting any important business...?”

Orion shook his head, turning to face Prowl fully now. “No, I was simply doing some organizing. Purging old, useless data. Did you have something to research?”

“I did, in fact. I'm trying to find information on an Autobot under the designation of Striker.”

The mention of the name brought a puzzled expression to Orion's face, and he glanced down briefly before turning back to the rows of shelves. After several moments of searching, he pulled out a few discs and headed toward a small desk in the corner. “I can't say the name is familiar to me. I know most of the Autobot forces fairly well- I see their names often, you see. Though somehow I think I did see mention of that designation, once...” He started bringing up the information on the discs, optics narrowing slightly. “Ah! Here it is. The references are to pieces of information other Autobots have found on missions, but there's no actual record of any Autobot – past or present – actually going by the designation of Striker.”

That didn't bode well. If this Autobot didn't seem to exist at all, then who was Tripwire referring to? “Nothing at all? Could it be a codename, then?”

After a moment or two of consideration, Orion nodded. “Yes, that is a possibility. I've heard rumors of a special ops division within the Autobot forces, but if such a group exists... well, for obvious reasons, they're off the records.”

“I see. That does make sense.” Prowl pressed his lip plates together for a moment. “Okay. Since Striker is clearly not an option to pursue, can I gain access to all information regarding Tripwire's suicide?”

The inquiry gave Orion pause, and he looked up at Prowl with an expression that bordered on curiosity. “Are you investigating your predecessor's untimely death?”

Prowl hesitated, considering how to answer that question. Finally, he simply nodded. “I am. The allusions to his apparent suicide aren't adding up to me, and I'd like to do some research into the investigations surrounding the incident.”

Frowning, Orion stood, picking up the previous discs to walk back over to the shelves. “I'll let you borrow what I have, but I'm afraid there isn't as much as you would like. I did some research into it myself... call it a librarian's curiosity.” Pulling down three small discs, he handed them over to the tactician. “Just be careful, sir. I haven't confided this in anyone, but... Tripwire's death didn't sit well with many Autobots. He was a good friend of mine. Find justice for him. Give his spark peace.”

He said nothing else, quietly excusing himself to work on a sudden project, and leaving Prowl standing in the middle of the room looking stunned. The discs rested in his servo, but now he was wondering at the slim, handsome mech holed up in the archives. What an odd thing to say. Find justice? Give his spark peace? Did the young archivist know something no one else did?

It was likely best he not inquire. If he was right, and furthering the investigation meant lives could be put at risk, the quiet and kind archivist was not someone he wished to put into harm's way. He vented softly, lowered his doors, and headed back for the elevator to the main level. He could think more on this later. For now, he had research to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using Megatron's TFP pre-warlord name. Works for me. May change it later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some missions don't always turn out to be safe. Prowl finds himself at a difficult crossroads when the rebels start to escalate the conflict... and tempers flare when Sentinel Prime's decisions begin to weigh on his new first lieutenant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the pairing you think it is. Just for the record.

By the time Prowl's shift had ended, he was far more stressed out than he wanted to be. Even with the information provided by Orion Pax, he had found very little to even bring any kind of light to what had happened to Tripwire, and he almost considered calling off the bar trip with Lathe. Gritting his dentae, he decided against it. She had been very enthusiastic about the idea and he honestly didn't mind the idea of spending the evening in the company of someone so pleasant.

He managed a quick run through the washrack before he met her outside the front entrance. She had buffed up her teal and white armor, and her optics were glowing brilliantly blue against her pale face. “There you are! And here I was thinking I'd been stood up.”

“Ah-...” Prowl was momentarily startled. He had been under the impression the rest of the medics would be joining them as well. “Is... anyone else coming...?”

Lathe rolled her optics and stepped forward to loop her arm around his, tugging him forward with surprising strength. “What, and miss this opportunity to have the new SIC all to myself? Perish the thought! Anyway, we're supposed to deploy in the morning, and Gadget and Sprocket agreed to get my things together for me so I wouldn't miss this.”

Despite the tension of the day, Prowl found himself smiling, his doors lifting somewhat as he allowed himself to be dragged along. “A pity you have to deploy, but I suppose it's for the best. What was found out about the attack on Tyger Pax?”

“Ah ah ah!” Lathe scolded him, smacking him very gently on the side of his chestplate. “We are off duty, mister second in command, and away from work! That means no talking about sensitive subjects unless they're of a vaguely risque nature.” She giggled when his back went rigid and his doors pinned back almost immediately. “Oh, I'm only teasing. Never on the first date, right?”

Air hissed from Prowl's vents and he gave a nervous smile. “Right. Never on the first date. Sorry, I'm just... kind of new to this. I wasn't expecting this to be an... honest to Primus date.”

She blinked, then peeked up at him as they approached the old oil house, just at the edge of one of the less affluent parts of Iacon. “...wait, really? You mean you've never once, in all your vorn, been on a single date?” When he shook his head, she perked up a bit. “Well! Guess I'm going to have to make this a date to remember, then. I certainly hope I live up to expectations.”

“Well, I don't really have any expectations, to be honest,” he admitted sheepishly. “You'll just have to forgive me if I make something of a fool of myself.”

Lathe couldn't help but smile at him again. “I very much doubt you, of all mechs, could ever make a fool of yourself. You're probably the picture of civility and grace even with a few mugs of high grade in your tanks.”

For a moment, Prowl just watched the little medic. She was so enthusiastic about this whole thing that it was hard not to catch a bit of that energy, even if this was leagues out of his normal depth. “You do remember that I've never actually had high grade before...?”

They'd just stepped through the door and started looking for a table when he said that, and she gave him an incredulous look. “Of course I didn't forget! Though I do have to admit, it's sort of surprising. You were just at the academy for how many vorn?” She grinned when he gave a short cough, looking suddenly very bashful. “You surprise me a little more every joor I know you, Prowl. I'm not saying it's a bad thing, it just surprises me. I have known a lot of mechs that came to the Elite Guard straight out of academy. You're just the first who didn't spend a huge chunk of his time there partying. That probably accounts for those scores.”

“I'd gone there to become an enforcer.” He rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “I was very focused on my task, and to be honest, I just... wanted to make my creators pleased. I didn't like the thought that they would have to bear the shame of a mold that wasn't living up to their expectations.”

She smiled at him all the while that he spoke, and he wondered briefly how she could stay so cheery, knowing so deeply the wounds this conflict was leaving on everyone it touched. Then again, the more he considered it, the more it made absolutely perfect sense. She shared herself openly, spark on her cuff, free with her smile and her joy and her energy. Since he had been at the Elite Guard headquarters, the only times he had seen her frown were in jest. How much was she hiding? Did it honestly matter?

They found a table in a back corner, a good distance from the speakers that blasted the popular music of the orn. If nothing else, they could speak at a relatively natural volume without having to yell or struggle to hear one another. Lathe ordered them both drinks, an old favorite of hers, then turned to smile at him. “So. How have your first two days been?”

“Well... busy, to say the least. I've spent a great deal of time today alone going through Tripwire's old files. Much of the information was... surprisingly disturbing. Particularly the information recorded in the vorn preceding his death.”

Lathe's smile faded and she laced her digits together as he said those words. “...you know what? I was the first medic on the scene when Tripwire... when he died. It was gruesome.”

That had not been the response he had respected when that comment had formed in his vocalizer. He frowned, reaching over to place his servo over hers. “I'm sorry. This probably isn't the best conversation for a first date, is it?”

She was still frowning, watching him very closely. He thought for a moment he may've just completely screwed up the entire evening by upsetting her so badly, but she just vented softly. “Maybe not, but I think it may do me some good to talk to someone about what happened. Someone who isn't Smokescreen, anyway. I just feel so rotten about it. Poor Tripwire... no one even mentions him these days, and if they do, someone just changes the subject. Not a single bot in this damn army has done right by him. Not even me.”

“Were the two of you...” Prowl paused, trying to find the right words. “...close?”

Lathe tipped her head back, optics dimming somewhat. “If you're asking if we were in a relationship, the answer is no. At least not in the sense of considering a sparkbond or anything. Were we intimate...? Occasionally. Though that's not that important. Anyway, Tripwire wasn't the sort of bot you would have expected to see as a soldier at all, let alone the Prime's first lieutenant. He was sharp, yes, as well as clever... but he was so soft. Quiet. You remind me of him, a little. You're a bit harder around the edges though.”

He allowed himself a very faint chuckle. “I suppose I'll take that as a compliment.” He paused after that, digits tightening slightly. “...Lathe, I hate to push this when we honestly came out here to have a good time, but... did anything unusual happen the day Tripwire died?”

“He... called me. Told me he had a lead on rebel activity, thanks to someone he called “Striker.” I was worried, of course! We've never had someone named Striker, at least not as far as I can recall. I begged him to reconsider, talk to Jazz about it. He always listened to Jazz. But he just said he would after his meeting with Senator Ratbat.” Her vocalizer hitched sharply. “A joor later, I walked out front to take my late shift break just in time to see poor Tripwire hit the ground in the courtyard. Everyone just started screaming... he landed face up, Prowl! On his back! His face... seeing him like that... it still haunts me some nights.”

Prowl silently cursed to himself. While the information gave him better insight into Tripwire's untimely demise, Lathe was now incredibly upset, and that was not the result he'd been shooting for. Quickly, he moved so he could sit next to her on her side of the table, arm going around her narrow shoulder struts. “I'm sorry. I should've left well enough alone.”

Slowly, Lathe shook her head. “No. It sounds like you're looking into his death, and if you are, you need to know this. I refuse to believe his death was a suicide, Prowl. He sounded more excited and determined when he called me that day than he'd sounded in lunars. I know he was pushed. Tripwire wouldn't have killed himself!”

He nodded, only lifting his head from her to thank the server who brought over their drinks. “I appreciate what you've told me. I promise, knowing what I do now, I intend to discover the truth behind Tripwire's death.” He gave her shoulder struts a gentle squeeze. “Let's talk about something a little less dismal. We came out here to enjoy ourselves before your medevac squad deploys. Let's make the most of it. I'd hate to see this end so quickly, and on such a sour note.”

She sniffed a bit, then finally nodded. “Right. So... is there anything you're curious about...?”

He couldn't resist a smile. “A few things, I suppose. For example, how does a femme from the crystal city end up chief medical officer to the Autobots?”

An almost shy smile broke through the sad expression on her faceplate. “Figured me out, huh...? You know I'm not the only noble serving in the military. Or former noble, I suppose.”

“True, but I believe you are the only noble serving in any sort of command capacity.” He leaned back, picking up his flask. “You clearly came here well before the spires fell.”

Lathe picked up her own flask, taking a very long drink before she spoke. “I was the spare, so to speak. My models wanted one protoform to carry on the family business and form a good, political bond... all that kind of nonsense. They also wanted a spare in case the first mold proved to be a moron. Or, you know, died. Turns out my brother loved the limelight, and I was content to just follow at the heels of our family physician. He was the one who encouraged me to go into medicine myself.”

Prowl made a thoughtful sound, taking a tentative sip from his flask. “Do you know if this physician survived the fall...?”

“I think he did,” she replied. “He left my family's employ well before I left for the academy. My family wasn't so lucky. Their remains were among the earliest found.”

Startled by that, Prowl winced. “I'm sorry. That... must've been very difficult.”

Some of her old humor returned at that, and she grinned. “Don't be sorry. The noble houses honestly share no love, even among families. I grieved, I dealt with the remains, I moved on. I suppose more than anything, I felt almost... relieved. I could focus on my career without their judgment looming over me.” She turned the flask in her servos, tips of her ivory digits running along the edge. “And you? Did you picture yourself serving as second in command to the Prime?”

He blinked at her. “No. No, I really can't say I dd. I expected to return to Praxus and serve as an enforcer for a few vorn, at least, before I even applied to serve as a soldier.” He took another drink from his flask. It was a little sweeter than what he preferred, but it wasn't terrible. “My models were proud when I sent word that I'd been recruited. So at least I'm not the disappointment I'd worried I was going to be.”

“I very much doubt you could ever be a disappointment,” Lathe stated, tipping her head to one side. “You're smart, and you clearly have a good grasp of what's going on around you, even if you don't think you're quite ready for it. But I'm confident you'll do well.” She gave him the best smile she could muster, holding up her flask. “Here's to us making of ourselves what our families never thought we would.”

Prowl stared at her for a moment, then just gave a quiet half smile, raising his flask to tap against hers. He wasn't sure yet if he truly felt the sentiment, but it was rude to leave her hanging, and he truly wanted to feel the same way. “I'll drink to that.”

* * *

They stayed out much later than he had wanted, and when he returned to his quarters, the pleasant buzz he felt actually kept him awake. He'd wanted to try to get some recharge, perhaps giving him the boost he needed to wake before the medevac team left and see Lathe off. Something, however, as keeping him awake, so he instead sat down at his desk, bringing up all the information he knew thus far about the mission into Tyger Pax.

So far, everything made perfect sense to him. Tyger Pax had been hotly contested, a hotbed for rebel activity since the mysterious gladiator first took up arms and decried the violence and disparity in the caste system that Cybertron had followed for hundreds of vorn. Many had been inclined to agree with him at first, but then the riots and the murders had started. Even as loyal to the Autobots as he was, he could see there were many ways this could've gone that very well may have led to peace. Then the crystal city had fallen.

He flipped to a new section of the report. Most of it was fairly average, the typical sorts of things he'd seen while going over old reports as part of classwork back at the academy. Routine troop movement, rushes on refugee camps... what did catch his attention as abnormal were the presence of alarm beacons. These beacons were intended to be used for search and rescue operations, directing medevac teams to places that needed help the most. The ones that had been activated were along a central route heading straight into the spark of old Tyger Pax.

Slowly, he frowned, bringing up a map of the area. Some of the hardest hit neighborhoods were right there where a cluster of emergency beacons had gone off. While it could've just been a coincidence, he couldn't in good conscious allow Lathe's team to walk right into the fire like that, knowing they could end up killed.

He stood up, all at once realizing how woozy he felt. He had told her he'd never had high grade before, and now he was suffering for that, one servo pressed tightly to his helm. He needed to try to ignore the feeling, however... at least if he wanted to get anything done. He activated his comm, sending a request for Jazz and Sentinel to meet him in his office in one joor, moving to take a single quick run through the washrack. That at least got some of the sickly sweet smell off his armor, and woke him up a bit. Now if they would just listen.

He arrived in his office moments before the commander and third in command did. Sentinel was showing no outward signs of his exhaustion, but Jazz seemed groggy. He offered Prowl a smile when he stepped into the office, though, despite how stiffly the tactician greeted him. Did he just ignore everyone's outright sense of body language?

“I'm glad you both could come. I know you both were likely in recharge or approaching it, but I was taking the time to go over some of the information regarding the mission to Tyger Pax... and I found it rather enlightening.” He brought up the maps on a nearby vidscreen. “So far, the data we have follows the pattern we've seen multiple times before. I can see why this would be easy to brush off as a very routine mission, but the sheer fact that it follows a distinct pattern indicates that there may be something greater at work here. I recommend pulling the medics and sending in a recon team.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he turned to look at the two mechs in the room. Jazz looked like he'd at least been listening intently, but the one he had hoped to convince – the Prime himself – looked almost bored. He made a thoughtful sound, then slowly shook his head. “I believe your concerns are unfounded, Prowl, though well thought out.”

Prowl's doors snapped back immediately, the tips clicking together hard enough that he almost winced. “Sir, you can't-”

“What is the probability that this is actually a trap, as you are suggesting?”

The room went quiet and Prowl frowned. “...out of the nearest twenty simulations, thirteen of them end in trap scenarios.”

The Prime nodded slowly, standing and folding his hands behind them. “So in essence, there is nearly a fifty percent chance that it is NOT a trap.”

“Closer to twenty-five percent chance, sir. That is a fraction of the simulations I've run.” He could feel his irritation growing. And why was Jazz just sitting there, staring into space like nothing was happening at all here? “Jazz, do you have any input at all...?”

The mech turned his head toward him when he was addressed, drumming his digits lightly against the arm of the chair he'd settled in. “...I can see your point. I do think it's worth considerin'.”

“Worthwhile enough,” Sentinel began, “to withdraw the medics?”

“I'd consider it.”

Sentinel Prime looked thoughtful for a moment, but it passed just as quickly. “Then that is what I shall do. Though are you absolutely certain, Prowl, that this is professional interest and not one born out of your interest in Lathe?”

The question was spoken in such cool tones that Prowl was surprised how much it scalded his processor, and he had to fight to quell the urge to snap out a response. “My interest in Lathe is friendly, and professional. I am, however, only doing my job at the present time. The medics may be in danger if you don't send a recon team first. That is all I have to report.”

“Your grievances are noted, Prowl. Thank you for looking into the matter.”

Sentinel had little else to say, simply turning and stepping out of the room, leaving Prowl alone with Jazz. The tactician immediately turned his ire on the black and white. “...are you always this useless?”

Jazz swung his head around so he was facing Prowl, a thoughtful expression on his faceplates. “I'm doin' what I can, mech.”

“That was doing what you could?” Prowl could feel his temper flaring, despite his attempts to push it back. “Do you even agree with me that the medics may be in danger?”

The mech said nothing for a moment, but he did stand, putting his servos behind his head. “Even if I did, do you think that'll really change Sentinel's mind? I'm doin' what I can, like I said.”

Prowl bristled, throwing his arms wide. “Forgive me for seeming incredulous, but generally, I would assume doing what you can would include actually making an attempt to do something!”

Jazz didn't answer, waving one servo as he turned to head toward the door. “You'll see.”

Stunned by this mech blowing him off, Prowl made an irritated noise, armor flaring as he vented. “Jazz! Don't you dare leave this room.”

To his surprise, the third in command did pause, but he didn't turn back, servo resting on the doorframe. “That an order, Prowler?”

“If you want to consider it one,” Prowl hissed, “then yes. It's an order. And do not ever, under ANY circumstances, call me that again.”

When Jazz turned toward him again, his body language shifted. He was no longer casual or even friendly, his shoulders back and lip plating pressed into a tight line. Though his movements remained smooth and graceful, something about him seemed... harder. Much harder, and very nearly dangerous. “Believe me, Prowl, there are more ways to do things than just talkin' at the problem.” He lowered his voice, frowning. “If you are right, and the medics are in danger, ventin' hot air at Sentinel won't do a damn thing. Now... if you don't mind.” All at once, his demeanor changed. There again was the smiling, laid back Jazz, his head inclined just slightly toward the SIC. “I'm exhausted and would like to get some recharge before the medics head off.”

He slipped out before Prowl could stop him again, and the tactician stood in stunned silence, his doors slowly lowering on his back. Every time he talked to that mech, he felt somewhat more convinced that there wasn't something quite right about him. He felt even more unsettled now than he had before calling them in here, and somewhere in his processor, he started to wonder if that had been such a great idea. But he choked the idea down and strode toward his berth.

If he wanted to see the medevac team off, he would need to at least try to get some rest.

* * *

He was up at 0600 joors with an awful ache in his processor and a sick feeling in his tanks he was doing his best to ignore. Sentinel may not have taken his advice to pull the medics entirely, but he was at least somewhat relieved to see a recon team sent as their backup, and Lathe smiled and waved at him from her place with her small unit.

All the other officers were present, but unsurprisingly, he didn't see Jazz. The lazy mech had probably missed his alarm and remained in recharge. Prowl vented a bit at the thought. The mech was absolutely impossible to deal with even on the best of days.

As he watched the crew transform and head off toward Tyger Pax, he frowned. This whole situation was still bothering him. What if the recon team wasn't enough? He was very nearly entirely lost in thought when he heard the communications tab on his datapad start to beep. Startled, he lifted the device and pulled up the message.

> _You don't know me, but I know you. Rest easy, my friend. You are right to be suspicious. The medics are in grave danger, but I will do my best to protect them. You are doing well so far, and I am intrigued to see how far you will go. Be warned, however... you are being watched far more closely than you think._
> 
> _-Striker_

Prowl felt his spark skip a pulse. The message was so deeply encrypted that he wondered if even one of the communications techs could break it, and he recognized the signature. It matched all the messages sent to Tripwire by this same mysterious bot... Striker. Was this some kind of prank?

Quickly, he looked around the crowd, though the very next thought in his processor was how silly the gesture was. This Striker likely wasn't going to stick close if it meant their cover being blown, and perhaps they had followed after the teams bound for Tyger Pax. That gave him some small sense of calm, however fleeting it may have been. There was still a chance the medics would be all right.

* * *

The pits of Kaon were sprawling. Most of what remained here consisted of ruins, left behind from ages past, and at the center of it lay the gladiatorial arenas within which Megatronus had carved his mark. There were none left within this stinking hole that would oppose him, all bowed to his will, prepared to strike and conquer at his slightest whim.

This conflict had originally been borne out of blind fury. He had seen his fellows crushed and slaughtered while he somehow survived, despite having been the one to bury a pickaxe in an Elite Guardsmech's shoulder and threatened the life of the senator. He had seen the despair and poverty the elite in the crystal city and the ignorant in Iacon had brought to Cybertron, seen the dredges of their kind scraping for some sort of meager existence amidst the retro rats and the tunnelers. The scum of Cybertron, all gathered in a seething rot, and now, Megatronus controlled them. Controlled all he surveyed.

He leaned back, his seat perhaps not suited to a warlord but one for a pauper, and narrowed his optics. The meeting with the young scientist had proven quite enlightening. He would be a welcome addition to their ranks, if – of course – he chose to leave the Autobot forces and join his own burgeoning army.

Decepticons.

That is what the newsvids called them. He supposed it was as good a name as any, one he could use to remind those feeble minded fools in Iacon that he was a force to be reckoned with and he would not be denied.

Gone were the orn he felt content in allowing the Autobots to survive this conflict so long as they agreed to work toward equality. Gone was any pretense that peace could ever be achieved. No, the path before him was clear, and he knew there was only one option remaining: the total destruction of the Autobot forces and the rebuilding of Cybertron with him as its one true master.

He lifted his head slightly when he heard another mech approaching with long, slow, heavy strides. The bot moved with deliberate, single minded purpose, single red optic that dominated his otherwise featureless face glowing brightly. Underlings that had gathered to offer their support scattered in his wake like particles on the Sea of Rust, the sheer magnitude of his presence alone only dwarfed by that of his one true master.

At the foot of the steps, he took a knee, bowing his head. “You summoned me, Lord Megatronus?”

Slowly, the gladiator stood. “There is no need for you to kneel, Shockwave. Rise.” He waited patiently for the mech to follow his command, then turned his head, gazing in the direction of Iacon. “Have you received word from our... informant?”

“The Prime has sent a small team of recon scouts and medics to the locations marked in Tyger Pax. He has taken the bait, but there was nearly a... small setback. Our plan was very nearly uncovered... by Sentinel Prime's replacement for the logician Tripwire.” Shockwave went silent, standing until Megatronus looked back at him expectantly. “The Prime's new second in command is an academy graduate named Prowl. The senator did not expect him to do more than bow to his master's commands, but he consistently acts in a manner that defies logic. He, like myself, is a tactician... and I believe he may be a match for me. If it pleases you, master... I would destroy him, and crush his spark in my own talons.”

Megatronus watched his subordinate with a scrutinizing optic. If this Prowl was a threat to what they had achieved thus far, destroying him would be the optimal choice... but some perverse notion in the back of his processor took hold. “No. Let the sparklet live, for now. What do you know of the medics heading to Tyger Pax?”

The faint noise of Shockwave's single optic readjusting its focus filled the empty space between them briefly. Moments later, he spoke. “Leading the medevac team is the Prime's chief medical officer, a former noble going by the designation of Lathe. Our informant has sent word that she is fond of this new lieutenant.”

“Then crush her.” Megatronus flicked his talons, his expression bland. “We shall see how the Prime's new pet behaves when others die as a result of his inability to convince the council's puppet to heed his warnings.”

Shockwave bowed his head slightly. “Shall I send Skywarp, master?”

After a moment or so of consideration, Megatronus shook his head, returning to his seat. “No. While our newest recruit is nimble, I require a more deft touch for this mission. Depart for Tyger Pax immediately, Shockwave... and be certain to leave a survivor to tell the Prime's lapdogs of the devastation rained down upon his poor, defenseless medics.”

His subordinate nodded, only turning to leave when Megatronus waved a servo in dismissal. As Shockwave turned to leave, the gladiator allowed himself a very brief smile. Thus far, everything was progressing precisely according to plan.

* * *

The next few orn were incredibly stressful for Prowl. He listened to the reports where he could, quietly dealing with the new struggles that came with being first lieutenant to a mech as stubborn and almost willfully ignorant as Sentinel Prime. More confusing was that he hadn't seen Jazz in days, even at the officer meetings, and most everyone wrote this oddity off as being “just another Jazz thing.” Well, “just another Jazz thing” was throwing off all his duty rosters. The mech wasn't even being good enough to answer his comm.

Even more distressing were the messages that occasionally came in from Striker. The bot was definitely tailing the medics, and had thus far mostly kept them out of harm's way. For the time being, it seemed that only basic subordinates of the gladiator's were proving a consistent issue, and vehicon grunts were useful in, if nothing else, being little more than cannon fodder.

Something in the fact that they kept throwing themselves at the small unit as they headed for Tyger Pax unsettled him, however. Both the recon team and Striker occasionally sent word back that they were still pressing forward, but their continued presence and persistence told Prowl that either the rebels had found something of value in the nearly decimated city, or the entirety of Tyger Pax was now under rebel control and this was, indeed, a trap. He flipped his doors back, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that this was all going terribly wrong.

Occasionally, it was Lathe that sent a message, as encrypted as she could get it, encouraging him and reminding him not to worry. Those times were much more grounding.

It must have been nearly 0430 joors nearly four orn later when an alert started to sound on his comm, waking him from sound recharge. A single message had come through from Striker, reading only “I'm sorry.” He groaned as he booted up, still groggy from the interruption, and tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Part of the recon team had returned from Tyger Pax... just two. Two lone survivors, and they were badly injured.

All at once, Prowl was very awake. Only two survivors? His doors flared wide in alarm as he nearly sprinted out of his quarters and down to medical where a small team of medic assistants were gathered. He saw Jazz, sitting in silence on the far side of the room, but the bot he was most interested in was a femme who had been on the recon team leading the medevac squad through the ruins of Tyger Pax. Lathe was apparently the other survivor, but her injuries had put her out of commission for the time being, resting in emergency stasis near where Jazz seemed to have just appeared at the other side of the room.

“Moonracer, I understand you've taken great injury,” he began, pushing through the medics and fuming when he realized Sentinel Prime was nowhere to be seen, “but I need to know. Did anyone else get out besides you and Lathe?”

The femme lifted her head to look at him, her pale blue optics wide. Then, slowly, she nodded. “The vehicons were nothing,” she murmured, shuddering. “We had everything under control, and someone kept picking off grunts from the sidelines. But then- then HE showed up.”

Prowl's doors were nearly vibrating, straining on their struts as he realized what this meant. “He who? Who ambushed your squad?”

“It was a trap.” Moonracer was continuing as though she hadn't heard his question, shaking her head slowly. “He picked off most of my team and trapped me under some debris. I could see him, advancing... he killed Sprocket first, then Gadget... but Lathe... poor Lathe...” Her vocalizer hitched. “He just... picked her up by the helm, with one hand, like she was just a piece of scrap metal. And then he squeezed... it's Primus's own luck that she survived at all...”

The tactician felt his spark sink with every word. “Moonracer...”

She shuddered again, one servo covering her mouth. “When he spoke, it was to me. He said he was only letting me live to tell YOU. To make sure that the Prime's new first lieutenant knew he'd killed Lathe. I don't know who stopped him! I blacked out not long after that!”

“Who was this mech?!” Prowl demanded, servos clenching tightly at his sides. “Moonracer, I need to know his name!”

She jerked back, and Prowl's fury only began to abate when he felt a gentle hand come to rest on his arm. “Gentle, Prowl.” It was Jazz, his voice sounding rough. “Femme's been through a lot.”

Prowl jerked his arm away, but before he could get another word out, the doors slid open and a tall, handsome femme strode through, jawline tight and optics narrowed to blazing azure slits. “Out of my way. I said out of my way! Where is Moonracer?”

The femme didn't have a familiar face, and Prowl was certain they hadn't been introduced, but her shoulders were drawn back tightly, giving her a more squared appearance than her smooth, soft armor would've otherwise allowed, steps brisk and forceful, tightly clenched servos swinging wide at her sides. Jazz glanced up from where he stood next to Prowl, frowning faintly at the tense femme. “Chromia, she's right here.”

“I heard she'd been hurt.” The femme almost immediately softened when she finally approached Moonracer, her hand coming up to cradle the younger femme's chin. “Hey 'racer. It's all right, you're safe at home.”

Some of the nervous tension Moonracer had been steeping in seemed to bleed away at the older femme's touch and she leaned her head forward. “I'm so sorry, Chromia. I was heading this mission... I should've been better prepared for what could've happened.”

Chromia clicked in her vocalizer, reaching over to grab a cloth so she could scrub away some of the energon staining Moonracer's face. “Ambushes happen. That does not make you any less capable a soldier, young femme, do you understand?” When Moonracer nodded, Chromia smiled, tipping her face up gently. “Now. I need you to focus for me, sweetie. Who attacked your unit out there?”

Moonracer fell silent at her commanding officer's words, and she tipped her head forward. “...I didn't want to believe it when I saw him, Chromia. But it was him, for certain.”

“Who, Moonracer?”

“He was a scientist... it must've been four or five vorn back. But he was arrested for his treatment of patients and his wild, outlandish experiments. So many bots died before he was finally captured.”

She allowed Chromia to take her servos. “Slow and steady, 'Racer. It's okay. Did this scientist have a name?”

Slowly, the femme nodded, curling her digits around the other femme's servo. “Please don't think I'm off my struts, but... it was Shockwave. The mech that wiped out my unit, that killed Sprocket and Gadget, that almost killed Lathe... it was Shockwave.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the biggest epiphanies enter with a whisper. Prowl learns this first-hand.

It would be a few days before things got anywhere close to back to normal for the Autobots at the Elite Guard base. Both Lathe and Moonracer were recovering slowly, with Lathe spending much more time on a berth than she wanted to. She spent joors complaining to Prowl once she'd finally woken up, occasionally smacking his arm when he started to look “too glum.”

Jazz didn't actually stay in the medbay long himself, but Prowl did notice when he finally excused himself. He murmured to Lathe that he wanted to check on the third in command, then slipped out after him, following until Jazz wheeled on him. “You think I can't tell when I'm bein' followed, mech?”

“I wouldn't know.” Prowl's tone was sharp and irritated. “You certainly do know how to make a ghost of yourself easy enough. Where have you been?”

Slowly, Jazz rolled his shoulders. “I had somethin' to do.”

An irritated growl rumbled from Prowl's engine. “Something to do? Like what? You had something to do before the medics were sent on that failed patrol, you were gone for the duration, and then you return with them, looking like you took on half a platoon by yourself!”

“...are you accusing me of harming the medevac team?” Jazz's voice had darkened considerably, squaring up his frame in a defensive posture. “Because that's the biggest load of scrap I ever heard anyone spew. I was helping Smokescreen, and when I got wind that the medics had been attacked, I went to try to help. I met up with the extraction team, we got tangled with some vehicons, and I rode the rest of the way back with them.”

Prowl's doors flicked again. “And you expect me to believe that?”

Immediately, Jazz threw his servos in the air, even as the tactician began to advance on him. “I don't really care what you believe! The pit is your malfunction with me, anyway?! I ain't never done a thing to you!”

“That's the problem! You haven't done a thing period! Since I've been here! You barely even existed when I first arrived, unless you were lounging about like a dent on a turbofox, and then you vanished for ORN when the Tyger Pax team went missing! I have a read on everyone else. Everyone else I have met is a known quantity. You are a complete mystery and it is driving me half mad.”

Jazz sneered. He was not known for getting angry, and usually, his patience knew no bounds. But something about Prowl, in the way he spoke and carried himself, in the sheer confidence born of terror that he may do something wrong, set every fiber in his being on edge. “Maybe that's because I don't want you to know anything about me.”

His words could not have been more poorly chosen. Prowl was rarely violent, but anger over what happened to the medevac team and helplessness in his dealings with the Prime were taking their toll, and he allowed himself just this one breech of protocol. His clenched servo made contact squarely with Jazz's face, shattering the visor that covered his optics and causing the other black and white to stagger back with a startled, angry curse. “What the SLAG, Prowl?!”

“That will not happen again. But I am glad to have gotten it out of my system.” He shook out his servo as Jazz lifted his head, energon trickling from a split in the metal near his optics and on his lip. “Now. Are you going to- level with me...?”

His words slowed to a stop when Jazz's optics opened, and all at once he realized exactly why Jazz had never met optics with anyone. Instead of the crisp, clear Autobot blue, the mech's optics were stark, brilliant white, with no sign of direction or focus. Jazz frowned. “Figured it out, did ya?”

Prowl hesitated a moment longer. “...you're blind...?!”

This time, Jazz snorted, quietly wiping energon from his nose and lip plating with his thumb. “Here I thought you'd finally realized how pretty I am. Yes, I'm blind. This is why I don't go on combat missions. I can't see a damn thing, and I can get around about as well as a legless petrorabbit without the visor you just helpfully broke.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't know-!”

Jazz tipped his head to one side, frowning. “Let me guess. My bein' blind didn't enter into your calculations because you assumed someone with such a high rank in the military couldn't possibly be unable to see? Did you miss that Ironhide's blind in one optic?”

Prowl jerked his shoulders back. “He's retired!”

“And I ain't even a combat mech! You wanna know my real job? I'm head of communications. I got a small team workin' under me, and generally, it's pretty quiet and close knit. You can even ask Smokescreen if y'wanna know the truth about where I was!” Jazz wiped his lip plating again. “Slag it...”

Prowl's doors drooped and he grimaced. He had felt some small amount of pleasure in finally landing one on the elusive third in command, letting all of his frustration and impotent rage bleed into that one strike. Now the remorse had sunk in, as well as a sliver of confusion. He had seen Jazz navigate crowds and narrow hallways with no trouble. Was the visor his only way around? Nervously, he offered an arm. “I'll... help you back inside.”

“No need,” Jazz grumbled. “I know the way well enough. I can get there on my own.”

He stumbled a few times when he shoved past, and Prowl just watched after him. That confrontation hadn't gone at all like he expected it, and now all he could do was stand there, wishing for a moment he was back in the dorms. At least there, his screw ups only counted as part of his grade, and those could always be fixed.

* * *

Jazz stumbled along for some time before he allowed himself to straighten, his angry, stunted shuffle interrupted as he allowed himself to move with most of his usual, casual grace. He really hadn't expected that of Prowl. He had a few spare visors, though he would likely need to go to someone to get it replaced in private, and he hadn't really been lying when he said he couldn't find his way very well without it.

He had long since learned how to listen to how the sounds changed when his pedes connected with the floor near steps compared to an open room or even a hallway, and had still lived at the opera house when he'd learned he could use a servo to trail a wall and find where it ended. These corridors were some he knew all too well, and presently, he was heading to a meeting spot.

He knew the former noble hated being inside the Elite Guard HQ, and generally their meetings took place in areas much less... stiff. Which was odd, considering that the prince himself was the only known survivor of the massacre at the crystal city. He refused to tell anyone what had happened there that awful night, when the spires burned, and had spent a vorn on his own, doing whatever he could to get by. Jazz had taken him in, given him purpose, and though the young mech refused to wear the shield, he was happy to serve as Jazz's second.

“Well, Striker,” the black and white heard the noble's clear, soft voice as he stepped through the door to his own quarters, locking it behind him. “What sort of mess have you gotten yourself into?”

Jazz turned slightly, then laughed a bit. “What can I say, Mirage? I'm a troublemaker.”

The sleek young mech, with his pearlescent armor, accented with deep, rich blue, stood with the sort of ease that one could only learn from vorn of training in the noble caste. Jazz couldn't see him, but he listened closely to the sound of every piston and gear, every cable as it pulled taut or released. Mirage was a creature of habit indeed, and those habits were borne of a lifetime lived among sleek molds and grand parties.

“What indeed. I'm going to touch your face, Jazz. Don't jerk back.” The words were calm, and Jazz was grateful for them as Mirage's slim digits came up to cup his chin, turning his head this way and that to get a better look at the damage. “Tsk. So. Who did you manage to anger enough to make them want to half crush your face? I must admit, you can be frustrating, but I don't think that's necessarily reason to punch you.”

A slow grin crossed Jazz's faceplate. “If you really wanna know, it was Prowl.”

Startled, Mirage looked up at him. “...I've seen him about. I don't think I could ever picture him growing angry enough at anyone, even you, to do this sort of damage. What on Cybertron did you do to infuriate him so?”

“He's mad 'cause he knows nothin' about me. Which I get; he's got a mind like a steel trap, and his whole way of doin' things is built around guessin' what someone'll do at any given time. Not even guessin' sometimes... that battle computer is scary accurate. It's a damn shame Sentinel won't actually listen to him. Easy there, Raj... grip my chin any tighter and you're gonna leave dents.”

“Hm? Oh. Sorry. He busted your lip plating wide open...”

Jazz laughed at that. “Aside from shatterin' my visor. And I think he snapped a line in my damn nose too.” He paused as he felt Mirage's digits move up his face. “Hmmm... careful there, Mirage. I may forget you have a mate.”

The noble screwed up his face a bit at that, free hand coming up to tweak one of Jazz's horns. “I know you better than that, Jazz. You would do no such thing. And please, don't say that around Hound. You'll give him ideas.”

“Oh?” Jazz's brow ridge arched, pulling painfully on the splits in the metal around his optics. “Didn't think he was into that kinda thing.”

Mirage tapped his nose, just lightly enough that it didn't sting too badly. “I'm teasing. Hound and I are very happy in our relationship, and while you are tempting, both of us are perfectly content just as things are.”

That drew a laugh from Jazz, and again he winced. “Ooh. I know, I know. It's just fun to pick sometimes, Raj.”

“So what is it about this Prowl that has you so determined, anyway...?” He turned away to pick up a patch kit. “I've never seen you so utterly fascinated with someone. Not even me.”

Thoughtful, Jazz tipped his head back. “...hn. You know, I don't rightly know. Ain't like he's anything really different, or special. No more than Tripwire was-” He paused. “No, that's a lie. Tripwire was smart, but Prowl is... sharp. He's clever. I think it's because he's the only one who's come close to figuring me out. I feel like he's right on the edge of it, but he can't quite put his digit on what's wrong.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two as Mirage urged Jazz to sit on the edge of the berth, setting to work on the damage left by both Prowl's fist and the shattered visor. “You've been sending him messages from Striker...?”

Jazz shrugged a bit in response, drumming his digits lightly against the berth covering. “I did the same with Tripwire. Difference between the two is Tripwire was focused on what was in the messages themselves. Prowl seems interested in both the content and the bot behind 'em.”

“And if he plays into the council's servos, like they wish him to?” Mirage stepped away, pressing his digits around the edge of Jazz's mostly empty desk until he found the hidden compartment. “What will you do then, should he honestly figure out who you really are?”

For a moment, Jazz said nothing, leaning back with a pensive expression. “I don't think he will, if I'm bein' honest. He's shown already that he's a lot smarter than anyone's givin' him credit for, and I think he's gonna surprise a whole lot of people. Just you wait and see.”

* * *

It was only a few orn after that encounter, with Lathe barely able to walk well despite her insistence that she was ready to go back on active duty and Jazz still avoiding him, that he met them. Wheeljack was standing solemnly next to the first mech, whose boxy white frame was marked with red patches indicating his rank as a surgeon first class. What was odd was that he had never seen him before. Standing just behind the medic were two much younger mechs, just barely in their full upgrades, one red and one yellow, with pale silver faceplates. Their build and features were as though someone had mirrored them, with only the decorative kibble on their helms distinguishing them from one another. They both wore identical expressions of clear irritation as they seemed to be waiting for... something. Prowl's doors twitched and, silently, he moved closer.

“...-still don't think you should have to do this, Ratch!” Wheeljack's tone was between frustration and concern, his servos lifting to cup the medic's face. “You didn't have to answer the summons.”

Ratch? Judging from the familiarity, Prowl could only assume this was Wheeljack's mate, the one Jazz had mentioned to him. He was scowling, cyan optics dimmed even as he tipped his head forward into the engineer's touch. “And have him expose the twins? Not on either of our sparks, Wheeljack.” He looked back at the pair, whose expressions twisted into remorse. “Besides, it's just a summons. It surely isn't the end of the world.”

Wheeljack shook his head, siren fins glowing a dark, unsettling shade of blue. “I don't like it. I really don't. With Lathe laid up like she is, for all we know, he could try to force you into service.”

“And I'll tell him to shove it up his waste chute!”

The engineer sighed, pulling Ratchet forward until their forehelms touched. “I just feel like this is gonna end poorly, medic.”

Prowl frowned as he watched the pair, and watched the unease with which the twin boys moved behind them. He assumed they must have been waiting for Sentinel... and with the commander nowhere to be seen, he supposed he would just have to go over himself.

He was not surprised when the two boys took defensive postures as he approached. He wore the Autobot shield, and he was certain Wheeljack must have told them about him. The medic shifted, gently pulling Wheeljack's servos from his face to turn and face Prowl himself. He was an older model, squared and less ornate, but the strength which with he carried himself was obvious. Prowl gently cleared a bit of static from his vocalizer.

“You must be Ratchet,” he began. “Wheeljack has told me about you. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Ratchet gave him a long look, optics brightening. “...Prowl, is it? Yes, Wheeljack has mentioned you as well. I apologize if I'm not as keen to return that pleasure, but I'm not exactly here on a friendly visit.”

Venting quietly, Wheeljack reached over to put his servo on Ratchet's shoulder. “Sorry, Prowl. We're all a little stressed out at the moment. Oh, and hey, I may as well properly introduce you. Come on, boys... Prowl knows about you, it's okay. He's got no problem with... what you are.”

The young SIC took a few steps back to give space for the pair to step forward in front of their caretakers. Their movements were in near perfect unison, though Prowl did notice a distinct difference in how they carried themselves. The yellow twin was drawn in on himself, still defensive, optics darting as though watching for an unknown threat. His brother was less tense, shoulder struts relaxing a bit as he ventured a nervous smile. “And you are Ratchet and Wheeljack's creations...?”

Again, Ratchet looked at him, though he seemed somewhat less tense knowing that Prowl seemed to take no issue with the unusual nature of the pair. “Yes and no. We didn't spark them, but we've raised them from protoforms. The yellow twin is Sunstreaker... and this is his brother, Sideswipe.”

“Hi! Nice to meet you!” Sideswipe was grinning, and he elbowed his twin when the other said nothing. “C'mon, Sunny, don't be rude.”

Sunstreaker, Prowl realized, was definitely the protector of the pair. He stepped forward, just slightly, placing himself in a position that he could easily put himself between the SIC and his twin should something happen. “...hi, I guess.”

The red twin shrugged and rolled his optics. “Don't mind Sunstreaker too much. He thinks everybody's a threat.”

“That's 'cause everyone IS a threat.” Sunstreaker scowled, though his expression was much softer when he looked over at his twin. “At least here they are.” He winced when his brother elbowed him again, then sighed, making a face. “Fine, whatever. I'll play nice.”

Prowl did his best to keep his expression schooled as the two interacted. Sunstreaker was probably right about one thing: this place was dangerous for the two of them. He'd heard it once, when he was still living in Praxus. The old story that Primus and Unicron were two halves of a whole, the very first spark, split to create two brothers, one good and one evil. It was one of many incarnations of their lore, after all. What was painful, and what stuck, was the theory that this made all split spark twins inherently dangerous. Most were extinguished at sparking, whether the offspring of a bonded pair or a spark that came from the well. He couldn't help but wonder as to how these two had come into Ratchet and Wheeljack's care, but it was likely best not to pry. Dealing with the constant stress and worry that came with keeping the twins' secret safe was probably more than enough without going into the intricacies surrounding their creation.

Instead, he turned to the bonded pair, expression as mild as he could manage. “What brings you to Iacon, Ratchet? Wheeljack mentioned to me that you ran a clinic in the wastes near Kaon.”

The medic gave him a long, cool look, considering. Then, he sighed. “I was summoned by Sentinel Prime. I'm guessing whatever he wants is at least marginally important...”

He trailed off, glancing over Prowl's shoulder, and the young mech turned as well. Sentinel was striding toward them, and Prowl immediately drew himself up to stand at attention. It meant very little, considering what had happened to Lathe, but it never hurt to keep up appearances. He was only distantly aware of an odd, low hum that had started to dig into his audials, but he wrote it off as someone milling in the nearby crowd. “Sentinel Prime, sir.”

“At ease, Prowl,” the commander replied, putting up one servo. He waited until Prowl relaxed, then looked to Ratchet. “And you must be Ratchet. It took a long time to find you. You were one of the most highly sought after surgeons in the crystal city in your day. A fair number of bots simply assumed you had died when the spires came down.”

Ratchet's shoulder struts tensed briefly, a frustrated expression briefly passing over his faceplate. He released a soft vent of air, though, trying to keep his temper in check. “With all due respect, sir, I'd rather people kept believing that. May I ask why I've been summoned?”

Prowl became aware in that moment that the twins had moved to position themselves behind Ratchet, bright optics focused intently on Sentinel, postures held as though they were waiting for something. The Prime regarded both of them in turn, then returned his attention to Ratchet. “Our chief medical officer, Lathe, was severely injured during a failed run on Tyger Pax. She will recover, but it will take time... time that the rebels will apparently not allow us to have.”

“Meaning...?”

“Meaning you're being drafted.” Sentinel didn't seem to notice the way Ratchet tensed, or how his shoulder struts drew back, optics wide with alarm and disbelief. “Welcome to the Autobots, soldier.”

Ratchet's mouth worked for a moment with no sound coming out of his vocalizer. “You can't do that! The clinic I run is important; no on else will give those poor sparks proper treatment out there! You expect me to abandon my work to come here and fight in a war you have every capability of stopping if you would just-”

Wheeljack had been desperately grabbing at his mate's arm, trying to still his rage, but the medic only stopped when Sentinel stepped right up to him. His focus was not on the medic, however, but upon the furious faces of the identical bots behind him. “Your considerable expertise is needed here, medic,” he was saying, never taking his optics off Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Kaon will continue to function just fine on its own, and perhaps without a bleeding spark to repair those who are injured fighting our troops, they'll lose a bit of morale. Besides... you have more important things to worry about, don't you?”

He waited patiently, glancing down only when he heard Ratchet move. The medic's shoulders had slumped in defeat, and Wheeljack had moved forward to brace him. Ratchet just put a servo over his mate's, voice low. “Fine. You win.”

Prowl frowned. He had remembered talking to Wheeljack about Ratchet before. The mech was a pacifist, and beyond that, it was his choice what he did with his time. They weren't even technically in a war at all! He cleared his vocalizer softly, glancing up at his commanding officer. “Sentinel, if I may. It does no good to draft a mech like this, especially when we have other capable medics that can be trained up to take Lathe's place while she recovers.”

Sentinel turned to look down at Prowl when he spoke, his browridge furrowing slightly. “Do you have the capacity to train them up, Prowl?”

“I- well, no, sir. I'm not a medic.”

“Which is precisely why we need a skilled, experienced medic to function in that capacity and provide assistance to Lathe once she's completely recovered.” He turned, moving off toward the crowd. “Your shift will begin at 0600 joors tomorrow, medic. You're dismissed.”

For several moments, Prowl just stood staring after Sentinel, optics wide. Had he just witnessed that happening? His servos tightened and he vented hard, though his attention was brought around hard when he heard a strangled sound escape the old medic. Ratchet was leaning heavily on Wheeljack now, faceplate hidden against his mate's shoulderguard, so the words he spoke next were muffled and soft, barely audible. “Boys, I want you on the next transport off Cybertron.”

“What?!” Sideswipe and Sunstreaker spoke nearly in unison, their tones startled and almost frightened.

“You can't make us!” Sunstreaker barked.

“He's right! We're not leaving!” Sideswipe continued.

Wheeljack's siren fins glowed that deep, unsettling blue again before he started to speak. “Boys, listen to Ratchet. You're not soldiers-”

Sunstreaker puffed up, armor flaring. “Then we'll become soldiers! That's what boot camp's for, right?”

His twin gave an emphatic nod, lip plating drawn into a tight line, expression determined. “We're not going to leave you two.”

Prowl shifted awkwardly before he quietly excused himself, letting the small family talk among themselves as he headed back toward base. His doors were still drawn back, vibrating faintly. This couldn't possibly be right. They couldn't just start drafting mechs left and right without a conflict to back it up. Briefly, he paused, turning to look at Sentinel Prime. He was standing near Senator Ratbat in a small crowd, with another mech he was unfamiliar with waiting several paces behind them. The mech, optics shielded by a visor not unlike the one Jazz wore, turned his head immediately toward Prowl, and he felt a shiver of anxiety run up his spinal relay.

The moment passed as quickly as it came on, with Ratbat calling the strange, slim mech to his side. He came to the realization that the strange, eerie mech must've been the senator's assistant, Soundwave. Strange... when that mech had looked at him, that buzzing sound had started to grow in intensity. Was he imagining it?

He frowned and turned away, heading on the rest of the way into the building, only to be stopped by a a young red mech running up to him. It was Perceptor, Starscream's assistant in the science department, and he looked nervous. “Oh, excuse me! Sir, I was just looking for Sentinel Prime. I was hoping he could tell me where Starscream's gotten off to.”

“...you can't find Starscream?”

“No, sir.” Perceptor frowned a bit. “His comm is opening to dead air and his signal shows as having departed the base sometime last night.”

Prowl tipped his head forward. That wasn't the answer he'd expected. While the seeker did seem somewhat skittish at times, he was – at the very least – punctual about checking in and keeping in touch. So where had he gotten to? “Do you have any clue as to where he may've gone?”

Frowning, Perceptor shook his head. “No, sir. Which is unusual. We were supposed to be going over the results from the tests we ran last night, but...”

“But he's gone.” Prowl frowned, doors drooping as he vented softly. Well, he'd need to look into that before he could do anything else. Setting his shoulders back somewhat, he looked once again to Perceptor. “I will do what I can to see if I can find him and keep you posted in the meantime. Thank you, Perceptor, for making me aware of this.”

He didn't give the scientist time to reply, heading off deeper into the base. He did, as he headed for his office, try Starscream's comm link, but the science officer – true to Perceptor's word – had either completely turned it off or was ignoring communications outright. A tinge of worry ran through his processor. While he doubted the seeker was dead or in any true danger, there was still a massive chance something else had gone wrong.

But what...?

* * *

Thundercracker was... a bit lost. He stood quietly in the middle of the waiting area of Ratchet's old clinic, his wings twitching occasionally. What a lousy state of affairs. Ratchet's predicament was one he couldn't really change, and so his best option was to pack up and move whatever he could so that at least whatever was left wouldn't get stolen in the looting that sometimes plagued the region.

He was just starting to get to work when he heard someone step in, and the young seeker sighed. “I'm sorry, the clinic is-” He paused when he turned, then frowned. “Starscream? What are you doing here?”

The scientist gave a bit of a loose shrug, walking over to his old friend. “Let's just say I've been... considering my options. I came to Kaon to speak with one of them, in fact.”

“Megatronus, then?” Thundercracker asked, frowning. “I agree with what he wants to do. Not necessarily the methods. Is that why you're here? You want to join him?”

Starscream smiled at him, the expression very nearly predatory. “Perhaps. Thus far, he seems to be the only one on this ball of scrap who understands the pain I have endured. The Autobots have never understood the... unusual sense of camaraderie and kinship fliers share to start, let alone how deeply we feel loss. Many Vosians have apparently already joined the fight.”

It wasn't as though the thoughts Starscream was airing were ones Thundercracker had never entertained. He considered, however, his own beliefs as he listened to his old friend talk. He had always been a pacifist, which was perhaps the largest reason he'd stayed at the clinic, helping Ratchet treat patients no matter where they were from. Part of him had, of course, missed that kinship... missed the closeness and the sense of belonging a seeker-kin could only find among their winged compatriots. “...how many...?”

“An entire armada, to my best estimates. I spent some time among them, to get a feel for how Megatronus handles his troops. It was a lovely feeling to stretch my wings and fly for flying's sake... and to discover I have not lost as much of my combat prowess as I thought. After all, the bots in Iacon had little need for flighted combatants.” Starscream tipped his head toward Thundercracker. “That does, of course, lead me to why I am here.”

Thundercracker frowned at him. “The former air commander returning to his former glory? Well. Then, do tell. Why ARE you here?”

Casually, Starscream stepped to the side, and it was only then he realized there was a figure waiting in the shadows behind him, and while he wasn't anyone the youngling knew, the seeker frame was unmistakable. “A small problem that has been dropped in my lap. You've always had a way with mechs, particularly those less fortunate than yourself, so I figured perhaps you would have a better hand at dealing with him. This poor brute is Skywarp. A rarity among even our kind... he was sparked in Kaon and is, unfortunately, a product of his environment.”

“...how in the world is a Kaonian sparked seeker a problem?” Thundercracker questioned, watching the newest addition to the room carefully. “He seems... quiet.”

Starscream only smiled. “Come with me and I will tell you. I believe you may find yourself wanting to help after all.”

* * *

If Thundercracker had found the scientist easy to find, Prowl was having no such luck. The seeker's quarters were bare, with only a few things left remaining laying haphazardly about. It was if the thought had struck him in the middle of the night that he wished to leave, and so he had. He supposed he couldn't blame him; from everything he had heard about the council's response to his missing partner, Starscream having stayed as long as he had was the only real shocker.

He supposed he would have to report this to Sentinel, though part of him wanted to let the mech just ignore it like everything else, and-

He stopped, servo hovering over the tidy desktop. A thought had come to him, and all at once, he felt his spark chill. This was not the thought of a proper, academy trained mech serving as high and lofty a position as he was. It was not the thought of someone who was an Autobot at all. Was it?

His doors started to tremble. Perhaps this was exactly how an Autobot should think. It was the logical conclusion. No matter how many times he ran the simulations, no matter how he changed the factors – small OR large – the same dismal conclusion was reached. At the rate they were going, should things escalate to total war with these “Decepticons,” they would perish so long as Sentinel Prime was at the helm. If he continued leading the Autobots, it would be the end of all of them. In essence, wasn't the choice already made for him?

No. No, that wouldn't work. He moved his servo back, clenching and unclenching both at his sides as he began to pace the length of Starscream's abandoned quarters. The Matrix was what ultimately decided who became Prime. Certainly it must have chosen Sentinel for a reason. Though... in all fairness, when Sentinel had become Prime, the worst they had to worry about from Kaon was the prevalence of thieves that occasionally snuck outside its borders. Now, with an inevitable confrontation brewing, city-states falling all around them, a peacetime Prime was not what they needed.

He felt his vents hitch slightly. Was he honestly considering it? It wasn't like he could do it himself, but to get Sentinel to walk willingly into the fire...

That same chill from before ran through his spark, tracing unpleasant shocks down his spinal relay. Why was he even entertaining these thoughts? To be even remotely involved in the murder of a Prime wasn't just treason, it was blasphemy. But at the same time...

Prowl squared his shoulder struts, trying to draw himself straight, feeling the tension in his neck cables. This wasn't something he should even be entertaining. He was angry at Sentinel's lack of initiative, that was all. Surely once he saw that Megatronus was really, truly a threat, he would see the light and all would be made right. It wasn't as though his calculations were based on how Sentinel reacted during legitimate wartime scenarios.

...though if this was how he acted now...

Quickly, he shook out his doors and put his chin up. First things first, he needed to report Starscream's disappearance. Then, he wanted to talk to Jazz. His last stop would be to the archives. Perhaps a brief conversation with the shy archivist would help him clear his head...

* * *

The first part was the easiest. Sentinel had given him a long, steady look, marked with that deep frown that indicated he was in deep thought. As soon as Prowl had finished telling what Perceptor had told him and, subsequently, what he had found in the scientist's quarters, he nodded. “I had feared Starscream may make such a rash decision. Thank you, Prowl, for bringing this to my attention.”

“...if I may, sir. Do you plan on tracking him?”

“I will be very honest with you, Prowl. I don't. Not because I do not wish to but because seeker-kin are notorious for being difficult to find when the mood strikes them.” Prowl couldn't disagree with that, and he nodded, slowly. “If Starscream has chosen to leave, that does make him a deserter. I'm disappointed in his decision, ultimately, but there is little we can do to stop him now.”

One of Prowl's doors twitched, just slightly. “There was much we could've done before he left,” he found himself saying. “Convincing the council to just try to look for Jetfire-”

Sentinel fixed him with such a piercing look that the young SIC stopped mid-sentence. “Believe me, I feel for Starscream's loss. Losing a partner is difficult, but when that partner is also a bondmate, it becomes devastating. His focus, however, should have remained on his work.”

Prowl felt himself bristling and he had to struggle to keep it down. Was this mech blind, or truly just a fool? It was one thing to have drafted Ratchet outside of a war effort, forcing the mech to leave behind his work and home, dragging the two sparklets he'd reared into a place where their very nature put them in danger of being killed. It was one thing to ignore the warning signs that led to the death of so many in Tyger Pax, and the severe injury of a skilled warrior and a talented medic. It was all these small things, these “one things,” that almost blacked out the tactician's core processes with blind rage.

Slowly, carefully, he forced himself to relax. He lowered his doors and let out a slow vent. “Of course, sir. You're absolutely correct.”

The words felt like acid in his mouth, and even as they spoke him, some part of his processor knew. He hadn't wanted to admit that his sacrilegious thoughts could have in any way been appropriate or sound, but standing here, listening to Sentinel Prime talk about how soldiers had no time for grief and mourning...

After several minutes of listening to the Prime drone on, Prowl excused himself, stating the need to attend to some duties. As he slipped out, he set his jaw firmly, heading for the archives. He would talk to Jazz later. Right now, he had some very serious questions in regards to the Matrix, and only one mech could answer them.

* * *

True to what he knew of the mech so far, Prowl found Orion Pax sitting at his corner desk in the archives, head bowed over his current project and looking very intent. He didn't particularly want to interrupt, but he knew it was probably for the best with the way things were going. Surprisingly, however, he did not have to speak to get the young mech's attention. Orion lifted his head, then smiled at the SIC, setting down the datapad in his servos. “Hello, sir. I wasn't expecting company.”

“I apologize for the intrusion, Orion,” Prowl responded, and to be honest, he wasn't really lying. The archivist had a very sensitive position, and it was one that often times needed a great deal of focus. “How goes the research?”

The young mech chuckled, glancing down at the datapad. “Slow and tedious. I am researching the past Primes.”

Prowl's browridge arched. “On Sentinels' behest?”

“No, sir.” Orion's expression grew a bit more grave. “On my own.” Prowl very nearly commented on that, but already Orion was standing. “Did you discover anything new regarding Tripwire's death?”

He fought for a moment over whether or not he should reveal what Lathe had told him in confidence. Orion had mentioned being friends with the former first lieutenant, so perhaps knowing that it was almost certain the poor mech's death had not been a suicide would be of some comfort. His doors flicked and he sighed. “Well... yes and no. I spoke with Lathe, the head medic, regarding the incident, since she was the first medic on the scene.” Orion nodded, and Prowl continued. “She revealed that he had actually been speaking with her in regards to the issues at hand. He was positive he was about to break a case when he died... she indicated his behavior was not that of a mech intending to throw himself from a rooftop.”

Orion was very quiet after that, his servos limp at his sides. Prowl watched him, silent himself. Here was such a gentle mech, with a spark in him big enough for all of Cybertron, who seemed to feel deeply for the concerns of others. He sought justice for a mech long dead, and even now helped to find the truth amidst all the falsehoods and lies. He would have made a fine soldier, he wagered, should he have been inclined to that route as opposed to a quiet, peaceful life amidst datatracks and discs.

Then, the silence was broken when Orion vented. “That brings some comfort. Perhaps Tripwire's spark does not yet rest easy, but I like to believe that knowing others are trying to uncover the truth behind his death... may bring him some peace. Thank you, Prowl. If there is anything I can do to assist you in any way...”

“...there may be one thing, Orion.” He paused, wondering how to come about to his request. “I... was wondering if you had any information on the succession of the Primes. How the Matrix chooses its next Prime Elect, that is.”

Orion blinked, giving Prowl a very curious look. “...an unusual request. Is there any reason why the subject interests you?”

After a moment of gathering his thoughts, Prowl flipped his doors back. “It is simply a subject they did not discuss often at the academy. And I did notice Sentinel has no elect training under him.”

The oddly dry, frustrated look that crossed Orion's faceplate startled him somewhat. “That is because the council does not allow it.” If Prowl looked confused, Orion just seemed strangely irritated. “I will have you know, before I begin, that I am against violent conflict if it can be avoided by extending a hand of peace. Sentinel neglects these things... and the council encourages him. I-” He stopped, and all at once his expression turned almost frightened. “Will you be...?”

“Reporting this to the Prime? Certainly not. I believe you and I may have some agreement in this matter.” Prowl motioned with his hand. “Please, Orion, continue. I want to hear your opinion, and any information you may have. I swear on my spark, none of this will reach Sentinel.”

The archivist hesitated for several moments, just watching Prowl. It was odd, how intense those blue optics seemed against his face, shadowed with doubt and uncertainty as they were. For someone who chose to live the peaceful life of a scholar, he seemed so very... commanding. “...I believe Sentinel Prime is a puppet of the council. We need more sensible leadership if we are to survive what I fear is coming. Megatronus has...” He trailed off, glancing at Prowl, before continuing. “Megatronus has, on occasion, spoken to me, when I was on research missions to Kaon. His ideals are not unfounded, but he wishes to change the world with violence and genocide as opposed to peaceful resolutions to the problems already facing our world. Sentinel refuses to see this.”

Prowl inclined his head to one side. “Megatronus...? Is that the name of the gladiator spearheading this rebellion?”

“It is.” Orion vented again. “...none of this answers your question, however. The Matrix... it speaks very clearly to the worthy in times of danger, when it knows a new leader is needed. It is also known to drive the servos of those nearest to it, who can hear even the faintest of its call. It holds the memories and wisdom of all Primes, the leaders of our world, dating back to Prima, the first Prime... and as such, it seems to know when change is required before disaster strikes.”

“How... how do you know all this? Is it in the archives somewhere?”

“No. Research into the intricacies of the Matrix is forbidden by council law... considered to be a sacrilegious act. I know this because I've heard it speak.” Prowl blinked, startled. “I am young yet, and while I have some combat training, I am not a soldier. I am not a leader. I am a scholar. And yet, I've heard it. The council does not know, and I would prefer to keep it that way. It is a burden I do not wish to bear.” He looked at Prowl again, browridge furrowed. “So, Prowl, if you move forward with what I suspect you are planning... please know that you may not see me again.”

He turned away then, moving back to his desk without a word. Prowl, after several moments of wondering what – if anything – he should say, simply swallowed his words and turned to the elevator, his processor reeling as he returned to his office. He had no idea how to process what he had just been told. If Orion could hear the Matrix call, was he an elect? And if so... why was he so against taking the mantle?

Rubbing the bridgeplate of his nose, Prowl gave an irritable sigh. He had the information he needed. Now, he just needed to decide whether he should act on it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl plays his hand... but he may be having second thoughts.

Ultimately, the answer to Prowl's question came without the sort of fanfare one sometimes hoped of epiphanies. It came as he was settling in his office for the day's duties, in the form of a message on his datapad from Striker, indicating that the Kaonian rebels were on the move toward Praxus, and he should act quickly if he wanted to make sure it didn't turn into a massacre.

This could, he realized, be a golden opportunity. His doors shifted, tipping forward just slightly as he considered his options. With the information he now had, all he needed to do was to ensure that Sentinel Prime was in Praxis at the right time. Convincing the mech wouldn't have hard: he had heard the commander speak about how all they needed to do was destroy that gladiator, and by appealing to Sentinel that he could easily take a small force and cut off the head of the duct snake...

Again, he tensed, setting his jaw. He still couldn't believe he was even remotely considering this. He had no love for Sentinel Prime or his behavior, but plotting to kill him was another matter entirely. He ran his digits along the edge of the datapad, browridge furrowing. Again, with what he knew of Sentinel's combat strategies, he ran the simulations, including the potential for full-scale civil war. Again, readout after readout indicated the same thing, and he felt his tanks turn.

Quietly, he picked up the mug that held the energon he'd gotten on the way to his office. He wasn't really sure he had the taste for it right now, but he knew he had to get something into his systems or risk dizziness later on. It was as he was quietly nursing the energon in the mug that he heard a knock at his door, followed by a familiar, melodic voice. “Prowl? You in there?”

Surprised, Prowl lifted his head. He hadn't even spoken to Jazz since their ill-fated last encounter, so the mech showing up at his door was more than just a slight surprise. “I am. Please come in, Jazz.”

The black and white slipped in once the tactician gave the word, letting it close behind him. “Hadn't seen you around. Wanted to apologize for runnin' off. I'll be honest: I did sorta earn that punch.”

“No,” Prowl interrupted. “I was out of line. And I am sorry for my behavior. Interestingly, I was thinking of coming and finding you. Have a seat.”

Jazz's expression rested somewhere between wary and uneasy at that, but he did sit down. “Somethin' on your mind?”

For a moment, Prowl considered just talking to him. Everyone else was so open with Jazz, so trusting with their words... all he could do, however, was continue with the course of action he had already planned for himself. “There is, in fact. You seem to have an “in” with everyone around here. I want to know if you know anything about a bot named Striker.”

Jazz was suddenly very grateful for his considerable skills. He kept his face schooled to the best of his ability, trying not to look surprised by the question. Figuring out a way to answer it without blowing his cover, however, wuld be the hard part. “Striker, y'say? Striker, Striker... well, I know of the mech. Not as much as I'd like, but more than most, I suppose. Why? He been causin' you trouble?”

Slowly, Prowl shook his head. “No. But I have received several messages from him, some during the failed mission to Tyger Pax, and now recently concerning rebel movement. I also believe he is the sole reason Moonracer and Lathe survived Shockwave's attack. What I don't know is his motive, or why he seems intent upon helping us when he doesn't know us from Prima.”

“You'd be surprised at what some mechs know that they ought not,” Jazz replied calmly, folding his servos on his leg. “To my knowledge, Striker's a friend. Don't know how he gets his info, and I've never cared to ask. Always seems to yield good results, though.”

Prowl couldn't help but frown at that answer, sighing as he laced his digits together on the desktop. “There've been no traps or misleadings...?”

The other black and white shrugged. “None that I've seen. I really do think he's on the level. He wants to help, he just don't wanna be seen.”

An uneasy silence fell between the pair, though just as it was beginning to grow unbearable, Prowl vented. “I see. That... answers a rather serious question, Jazz, thank you.”

“That really all you wanted to know?” Jazz smiled a bit, looking a bit more mischievous. “I could really dish on some mechs around here.”

“That won't be necessary, though I thank you for your cooperation.” He started to get to his pedes, giving Jazz an almost weary smile as he did. “...perhaps you aren't as useless as I thought.”

Jazz outright laughed, throwing his servos up. “You got me, Prowl. Just hidin' all that uselessness under a guise of silly. Still, though... glad I could help. You ever need anythin' – anythin' at all – you tell ol' Jazz. He'll set you right.”

* * *

While the two mechs talked in the office high above the ground level, two young mechs were settling in far below, standing shoulder to shoulder as they watched the mill of other recruits in the “boot camp” all around them. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were used to being around fighters. Ratchet worried about them, true, but they had constantly handled themselves quite well, hanging around the pits to watch the gladiators fight and even participating in some of the rookie matches themselves... with the twins usually coming out on top thanks to their unusual tutelage. And they certainly weren't going to back down from a fight now.

What was troubling was the anxious way some of the other recruits looked at them... the way many of them gave the twins quite a wide space as they moved past them. The only one who didn't move out of their way was a little red minibot who stopped and scowled up at them when they didn't move out of his way. “...well? Are you two gonna move?”

“You could always go around us, shorty,” Sunstreaker growled, leading his brother to put a servo gently on his arm. “No one's stopping you.”

The minibot snorted, looking irritated. “Well, you're standin' still in the middle of a busy hallway, so I'd say that counts as someone stopping me. Who let a couple of defects like you in here anyway? Didn't anyone tell 'em twins are trouble?”

Sideswipe had to put his arms around his brother's to keep him from moving forward to strike the minibot. The yellow twin was easily stronger than him, but it was a rare occasion he was willing to thrash enough to do his twin harm. Instead he vented, hard, servos clenching tightly. “...whatever. You're not worth my time.”

He went to straighten as the little bot let out a laugh, sounding very nearly cruel. “You're just afraid you can't take me on without having to hide behind your brother- ahh!”

All at once, though a crowd had gathered, the minibot cut off. It was not, however, because Sunstreaker had broken free of his brother's grip, but instead because a tall, slim young red and orange mech had stepped up in front of him with enough speed to startle. “Leave them alone, Cliffjumper. They're rookies just like any of us.”

“Rookies I'll wipe the floor with,” the minibot – Cliffjumper – replied with a frown. “I'll take you on too, Hot Rod, if you don't get outta my way!”

Another bot stepped up next to the first, this one smaller and more streamlined... a lithe looking femme with a pale pink paint job. She folded her arms over her chestplate, frowning down at Cliffjumper. “Do you really want to do this today, Cliff?”

The minibot scowled. “This isn't any'a your business, Arcee. You gotta stop taking up for this skinny little-...” He trailed off. At this point, both twins – as well as Hot Rod and Arcee – had lifted their heads to look at something behind Cliffjumper. The twins were staring, but the remaining pair had grins growing on their faces. “...scrap. He's behind me, isn't he?”

“He” turned out to be a massive green mech with a jovial smile, his broad servos resting on his hip plating as he stared down at the little red bot. “Seems to be your unlucky day there, Cliff. Why're you giving these two trouble anyway?”

“Why?” Cliffjumper bristled, trying his best to look brave in the face of the big mech. “Isn't it obvious? Just look at 'em, Springer! They're twins. They're... weird.”

The green mech, Springer, made a thoughtful face, tipping his chin so he could get a good look at the red and yellow mechs. They stared defiantly back, and after a long moment, Springer just grinned at them. “They look like a couple of mechs about our age, and nothing worse. Stop being so superstitious.”

Cliffjumper made a disagreeable sound, folding his arms tightly over his chestplate. “They're trouble. You watch; I'll be right.”

With that, he stormed off, shoving between the twins before moving on down the hall. Sunstreaker went to retaliate, but the femme rested a servo on his shoulder strut. “He's really not worth it. Sorry you had to deal with him.”

“...you guys aren't afraid of us?” Sideswipe sounded anxious, watching the trio carefully. “Like. We don't bother you any?”

“Of course not,” Hot Rod replied, beaming. “This is the army! We're all in this together, and if you're here to help, then that's what counts.” He offered a servo, the spoiler wings on his back sweeping up dramatically. “I'm Hot Rod. These are my partners, Arcee and Springer. You are...?”

Sunstreaker turned when the smaller mech introduced himself and his companions, frowning a little bit. But he did turn, taking the offered servo in his own. “...Sunstreaker. This is my brother, Sideswipe.”

Springer smiled down at him. “It's good to meet you both. So you're newbies, huh? We've only been here a few lunars. How'd you two wind up here?”

The pair exchanged a glance, seeming almost as if they were quietly conversing, before Sideswipe looked up at the big mech. “Our creators are here. We came with them.”

“Well, that's one way of winding up here,” Arcee mused, a smile curving her lip plating. “Vast and different histories, right? Here, come with us. We'll show you around. And don't mind Cliffjumper too much. He's originally from Tyger Pax and he was there when the city fell. He's... got a lot of anger.”

Sideswipe tilted his head to one side, looking curious. “What about you three? Where are you from?”

Beaming, Hot Rod pressed his servo to his chest, looking proud as can be. “I'm from right here in Iacon! Sparked and raised here, in fact. It's been my dream to serve in the Elite Guard, and here I am.”

“Thinks he'll make Prime someday,” Springer teased, tweaking one of Hot Rod's spoilers. “I'm from Altihex. And our lovely femme here-”

“Is from Tagon Heights,” Arcee interrupted, smiling a bit. “We all just sort of found each other here. And it's... worked. Do you like it here so far?”

Scowling, Sunstreaker glanced in the direction Cliffjumper had stormed off. “Aside from some of the company. How do people know, anyway?”

Springer turned, his browridge arching. “...well. You two do look almost identical. Bits of your helm and upper armor aside, it's obvious your protoforms are spot on.” He smiled when the twins looked at one another. “I mean. It's not a bad thing. Just because you're twins doesn't mean anything bad.”

“Except that we're apparently the second-coming of Primus and the doombringer and we're gonna bring down all civilization around our audials,” Sideswipe grumbled. “Our creators told us about the old superstitions. It's stupid.”

The femme with them let out a soft sigh. “Not denying that. But some mechs are just... really hard-headed about that kind of thing.”

“Yeah.” Hot Rod put his servos behind his helm as he walked. “But hey, if you need any help, you can always hang with us! Kup's been calling us the Wreckers. If the ped-casing fits, right?” He gave a grin that was as impish as Sideswipe's, and both twins grinned. “So you can be on our team.”

Both the twins looked rather surprised, as though this had not been an outcome they'd expected. Not that any of the trio could blame them. It was as though they'd never been around other mechs their age, and this sort of interaction must've been so foreign for them. Finally, Sunstreaker ventured to speak. “You're not just offering to tease or something, are you? I mean. You're not gonna... let us say yes and then act like it was a big joke...?”

“Scrap no!” Springer replied, turning to face them from where he'd been leading them down the hall. “You guys are new, and we're pretty new. You need someone to show you around, and we were shown around during orientation. We're offering this on the level, if you want it. Besides, we younglings have to stick together, right?”

Finally, after several moments within which the pair looked at each other, optics unfocused and faces set, they both looked back at the trio and grinned. Their answer, as well as their expressions, came in perfect unison. “We're in.”

* * *

His mind was made up. Prowl wasn't certain if he was happy, or even sure, but at this point, it seemed like his choice was made for him. The Matrix, he knew, would absolutely have to revert to Orion... and he hoped they would be able to track the scholar in the case that this even worked. He kept his shoulders back, trying not to look anxious, barely managing to keep the trembling out of his door struts.

He wasn't entirely sure if he was going to be okay with this. But at the same time, he felt there was just no other way. He squared his shoulders, looking forward and settling himself to his task. He may not have liked it, but his choices were his own now.

Chin lifted and doors flicked neatly back, he rapped his knuckles lightly on Sentinel Prime's office door. “Sir? Are you available? I've received some intel I think you'll be interested in hearing.”

“Enter, Prowl.” The Prime sounded tired, but Prowl didn't question this. He simply stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. “I apologize if I seem a bit off today; I had a meeting with Senator Ratbat.”

Prowl had yet to actually meet this mysterious senator, but he held his vocalizer for the time being, just nodding a bit in reply. “Of course, sir. I don't mean to be rude, however, but I've received intel on the movement of the gladiator spearheading the rebellion. He is moving toward Praxus, though his intention is – as of yet – unclear. Current results indicate that he is not taking a large force. If you were to move in with a small force, you may be able to cut him off and take him down before anymore life can be lost.”

To his merit, Sentinel looked surprised when he finally looked up at his young lieutenant, lip plating pressed tightly together as he regarded the mech's carefully held posture and expression. Nothing but the picture of professionalism. He nodded then, lowering his head somewhat. “I see. Well done, Prowl. May I ask how you came upon this intel...?”

“I believe it was through one of the special ops groups,” he suggested, furrowing his browridge slightly. “Have you heard of a mech named Striker?”

The Prime nodded, his surprised expression furthering. “I have heard of Striker. I am, in fact, somewhat surprised that you had as well. He's an intelligence agent that offered his services some time ago, though I've never actually met him face to face.”

The tactician arched his brow, looking puzzled. “And yet you trust him?”

“His intel has never been wrong.” The commander stood, picking up a datapad. “It is unconventional, and he really doesn't ask for anything in return. I know it doesn't seem like a very conventional setup, but it works well enough.” He began arranging some information on the datapad. “So. You say the gladiator is moving with a small force...?”

Prowl shifted his wins uncertainly, then nodded. “Yes, sir. He is advancing on Praxus now. We'll have to move quickly to cut him off.”

Sentinel nodded, turning to his young SIC. “We'll put together a small team, then. I want you to see if Lathe is up and moving, then take a small team of combatants to patrol the streets until we've given the all clear. Take Jazz with you; he can keep in contact with Blaster here in the city and monitor any suspicious activity.”

The SIC snapped to attention, nodding sharply. “Sir.”

“We'll want to move quickly. So you're dismissed.”

Prowl saluted at that. “Yes, sir!”

Turning sharply, he headed out into the hall, letting out a heavy exvent when he was far enough away. Well... whether or not he liked it, the foundation was placed for his plan to move forward. Now he just had to find a way to ensure the Matrix got back to Orion or this would have been for nothing.

* * *

His next stop was in the medbay, where Lathe – looking much better following her unpleasant run-in up near Tyger Pax – was moving around, rearranging things near one of the larger work stations. Prowl was honestly a bit surprised. From what he knew of Lathe in their brief encounters, she generally used her office as a way to wind down. Now she was out here?

Confused, he walked over to her, doors lifting slightly on his back before he smiled at her. “Well. It is good to see you off a table at last, Doctor.”

“Oh!” Her head jerked up, but she smiled when she saw Prowl standing there. “Oh, Prowl, you spooked me a bit. How are you? I haven't seen you down here at all.”

The tactician waved a hand absently. “It's been busy, though I am sorry I haven't taken the time to stop by more often. You look well. Is your office messy from your lack of time to organize, or...?”

She blinked, looking genuinely surprised at his comment. “You haven't heard? I requested Sentinel place me back on regular rotation and allow Ratchet to take my place as chief medical officer. I know it seems weird, but honestly, I really prefer this sort of thing. I like having the room to move around, to be out in the field... you know. Do my own thing. It doesn't say anything about my abilities, but to be perfectly honest, I'm better with triage and field work. Ratchet is a much more capable surgeon. Top marks, much like you, though much longer ago than you or I have lived.”

In honesty, this did surprise him. He supposed, though, that he couldn't really complain. If this was hat Lathe wanted, then he wasn't going to stop her, and besides that, Sentinel had specifically pegged him for leading this team into Praxus. “...I'm sorry, by the way. About Gadget and Sprocket. Do you have any new medics trained up?”

“A few.” Her tone had turned sad, browridge furrowing. “It's been a lot more difficult than I thought, though, getting the others up to speed and ready to go. It isn't that they don't want to help, or even that this is beyond their skill level. It's just that they're being thrown into the line of fire – so to speak – right out the gate, and under a new CMO to boot. Not that I regret that part; being a medic is great and all, but I joined up to help save lives... not to order people around and file paperwork. That's way more suited to someone with Ratchet's... unique disposition.” She paused to dust off some dirt from her arm plating, then looked up at him. “But that isn't the only reason you came down here today, is it?”

He shook his head, folding his servos behind him. “You would be correct on that mark. I received intel that the gladiator from Kaon is on the move. He appears to be heading for Praxus, with a small force. No doubt it's another raid, as I don't think he has the forces for a full-scale assault on a city that size, and he hasn't had access to the parts required to create the same kind of biological weapon found at ground zero in the crystal city. Sentinel's given me orders to lead a small team, including you and a few medics, to the east entrance to the city while he takes a small squad to head them off.”

Lathe's lip plating curved down into a frown, and she shook her head slightly. “That just seems so odd to me. Praxus is a huge target to level nothing more than a raid on...” She caught Prowl's optic, but the mech's expression gave nothing away. He simply watched her carefully, waiting to see how she would respond. Finally, she exvented, folding her arms over her chestplate. “Okay fine. I'll grab Tourniquet and Planer and we'll get everything ready. Are you absolutely sure about this, Prowl? I mean... it just seems so odd.”

He considered very quickly what was going on. Answering in any way suspiciously would raise Lathe's defenses, and she trusted him so far. Finally, posture relaxed and doors resting casually on their struts, he nodded. It had taken him seconds. “I'm positive. He's a simple gladiator, Lathe. Surely he can't be that dangerous. We'll handle whatever he's planning and be back in time for a quick refuel in the mess. Trust me... this will be a walk in the park.”

* * *

Or at least that's what he hoped. A few joor later, he and a small contingent of soldiers and medics stood with Sentinel Prime awaiting orders. The Prime was standing patiently, a few unfamiliar soldiers flanking him, and regarded Prowl's small unit in silence. “This will do.”

Prowl nodded. He was standing with Jazz to his left and a small force consisting of Ironhide, Kup, and several cadets – Springer, Arcee, Hot Rod, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe among them – for what Sentinel himself suspected of being little more than a simple energon run. Prowl pressed his lip plating together tightly at the thought; the Prime himself couldn't have been more wrong, but he didn't want to show his hand or let on that this could possibly be a trap at any point before things were underway.

And besides, the Prime was aware of the situation exactly as Prowl had been made aware of it. The primary difference was that the young tactician had a somewhat more advantageous opinion of the gladiator than his superior did, thanks to his brief conversations with Orion Pax. That in itself had surprised him... the young pacifist did not strike him as a revolutionary, but he clearly at least somewhat agreed with Megatronus's ideals for a better future for Cybertron. He could only wonder if the situation on the colonies was in any way similar to their own, and if it was... would Megatronus attempt to spread his ideals there too?

Revolutionaries were hardly a new thing anyway. There were always one or two rabble-rousers in any given generation, but most were overall silenced by the functionalists currently in power. He had to admit, their current method of dealing with matters was certainly in no way efficient, and perhaps the rebels were more on the credits than he'd ever previously thought, but he was a soldier. A cog in the machine. He was not meant to change the future or in any way alter the path they were already on. Leave that to politicians and pundits.

The tactician snapped back to attention when he realized Sentinel was done with his latest speech of encouragement and was now doling out orders to the waiting troops. Prowl's squad was, as he stated to Lathe, to the east entrance of the city. Sentinel Prime would lead the unfamiliar crew with him to the north entrance with the intend of heading off the gladiator and his group of rebels before they even had a chance to enter Praxus proper. To kill a duct snake, after all, one must lob off the head... and the head of this rebellion was the fearless, well spoken gladiator at front and center.

Prowl had absolutely no presumptions about what they were about to walk into. Megatronus was likely to have a larger force, primarily to attempt to take Praxus by force. As soon as Sentinel was handled, they could retrieve the Matrix and retreat to Iacon with as little incident as possible. He just hoped the plan would work. With Megatronus's forces focused on the Prime, they could create a diversion...

Again, he snapped to attention. Sentinel was addressing him directly now, their optics meeting. Something in the Prime's expression almost seemed expectant, like he was waiting for Prowl to slip up and reveal his true motives. But Prowl, despite the sick, tumultuous feeling rolling through his tanks, held fast, simply saluting when Sentinel completed his orders and turning to his team once the Prime had moved on, ordering them to transform and move out.

As they started the long trip to Praxus, he felt himself tense. He hadn't thought this through as well as he would normally like to... but now was not the time to hash over details. He had a war to stop.

* * *

Far from the Autobots moving on the city, a lone figure in dull silver plating stood quietly, watching the march of the army he had so carefully cultivated. Near him stood Starscream, silent and waiting, watching the gladiator in anticipation of what he would say.

“I must admit, Starscream... I am very surprised by your decision. Leaving Iacon, and an illustrious career as a high ranking scientist at the right hand of the Prime himself. I'm intrigued.”

The seeker's graceful wings swept back at the comment, turning his bright optics on Megatronus. “What can I say? You made a compelling argument back in that old mech's clinic. That's why I came back.”

Megatronus let out a low chuckle, shifting his posture so he could turn and look fully at the young air commander. “Surely you can see their hypocrisy.”

Starscream snorted, optics narrowing as his lip plating drew into a tight frown. “Among other things. They are... short sighted. Narrow minded. And, as you've said, blind to the plight of anyone outside the wealthy.”

“Though you are of Vosian origins.” The gladiator gave him a more casual look, waving one servo absently. “Surely they have more respect for Vosians than for the low classes.”

The comment brought a sneer to the young mech's face. “Seeker-kin are not welcome among the flightless. Not usually. Skyfire and myself were anomalies simply because of our scientific skills. Those not gifted with flight do not... trust those who can take to the sky on a whim. As far as they are concerned, we see ourselves as above them. Above all their petty differences and feuding.”

Thoughtfully, Megatronus gave him a long look. “And are you?”

Starscream regarded him in silence for several long moments, as though pondering the best answer to the obviously very loaded question. Finally, he gave his shoulder struts a shrug and nodded. “Only in that from a higher vantage point, one can see that they scurry about like scraplets, slaughtering one another for personal gain. It was not like that in Vos. Seeker-kin are not necessarily above conflict or grudges, but we are social creatures by nature. A whole cannot function without all of its parts working in unison, and this is something the Autobots and their ilk have yet to learn. Perhaps I haven't spent enough time among them... or perhaps I simply have no time for their posturing and games. Better a war raze everything to be begun anew than to live consistently under the heel of a system that clearly does not work.”

Megatronus nodded after several moments, at last smiling faintly toward the other mech. “Then you and I have much more in common than I thought, air commander. You have the makings of a fine first lieutenant.”

“Do I?” Starscream honestly sounded somewhat surprised. “You hardly know me.”

This time, it was the gladiator who shrugged, his attention turning back to the massive army en route to Praxus. “True, but I can tell you speak truth. I have not gotten this far in life being a poor judge of character. Time may tell what your end goals are, Starscream, but I believe you are possessing the ideals and qualities I will need at my side when the time comes.”

Starscream blinked at that, his wings lowering somewhat against his back. “When the time comes? For what, my liege?”

“For the new world order... when Sentinel Prime's armies lie terminated at my pedes.”

* * *

Praxus. This had been Prowl's home city, glittering and bright, the only city-state that even came close to the crystal city in terms of size and wealth. Even Iacon, located centrally upon the vast titan Metroplex, couldn't compare. The SIC felt a wave of bitter sickness well up from his spark at seeing it now.

He had, of course, hoped they could head off the main part of the attack, and it was only as they entered the city that he realized how grievously even Striker had miscalculated the sheer force the gladiator had brought. Prowl had expected perhaps a force large enough to cause trouble for the enforcers always stationed at the borders, but this was not done by a ragtag band of beleaguered rebels seeking restitution and equality. No, this was the work of an army.

The once breathtaking vistas and glass walled buildings were decimated, shattered and crumbling from an attack he could have prevented. He could hear his team digging, looking for the origin point of the sparksign of the only survivor they had seen so far, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Sentinel prime was not near them, having taken a few Praxian-sparked bodyguards to seek out the gladiator leading this violent rebellion. If he came back to them alive, that would be the miracle.

He heard Lathe crying out that they had found someone, and he turned to find Jazz and Ironhide pulling a little silver framed Praxian from the rubble of what appeared to be a home complex. He was nearly in hysterics, babbling at the medics who were only trying to help him. He must've been in shock, Prowl noted, considering he didn't seem to notice his own half caved chestplate or how his doors had been mangled, torn so violently from his back that they dangled only by thin wires and cables.

“We need to get him back to Iacon,” Lathe was saying. “He's definitely in shock, and he's lost a lot of energon.”

The SIC immediately snapped back to attention. “Ironhide. Load the kid up and get heading back. The rest of you, with me. We'll keep looking for survivors while we search.”

Ironhide very nearly protested, but he sighed and transformed, prepared to provide the necessary transport. As soon as they were well on their way, the team continued to move.

It was very nearly two joors later when jazz stepped up beside him, expression tense and worried. “Prowl... I know Praxus was your home, but there is nothin' left here. We need to find Sentinel and sound the retreat.”

“Not until we've checked the remainder of this sector. Praxus is a huge city; there have to be more survivors than what we've seen so far.” He hesitated. Amidst all this activity, with the exception of the injured youth in the complex, he hadn't bothered to even check the number of survivors so far. “How many have we found?”

Jazz's frown deepened. “Just that one.”

“And the other units...?”

“...none.”

Prowl blinked, stunned. None? At all? He could scarcely believe... “That's not possible, Jazz. In fact, statistically, it's exceptionally improbable. Out of the millions of residents in Praxus, you mean to tell me that all available search and rescue units have only found one lone survivor? The odds of that being the case are almost literally a million to one.”

Quietly, Jazz shrugged. “Don't know what t'tell ya, mech. Sometimes numbers and statistics just ain't right. Ain't fair, but... the world ain't always gonna follow a pattern just 'cause you say it should.”

No survivors in Praxus. The thought was terrifying. Prowl's doors lowered very slowly as he tried to process that information.

No survivors in Praxus.

That made him, Smokescreen, and the frightened young survivor the last residents of this once proud city to escape in tact. The very thought chilled him and he jerked his shoulders back. Suddenly, it all made sense. Th spires hadn't gotten Iacon's attention... but Praxus would. It was right on the capitol's doorstep. This was more than just a random attack: this was a strategic move, and in his eagerness to clear the path for a more effective Prime, he had blundered right into it. They hadn't planned to take the city at all; they had wanted to draw out Sentinel, who never would've come out here without Prowl's nudging.

This was an act of war.

His doors swept back in alarm, and all at once, he transformed and tore off, hollering as he went. “Jazz! With me!”

The very surprised TIC immediately transformed to follow. “What gives, Prowl?!”

“We need to find Sentinel! Now!”

* * *

Guilt was a powerful motivator, Prowl realized. He had been so focused on finding a way to relieve Sentinel of the Matrix that he had latched on to the first thought to occur to him. Now, the prospect was all too real and he felt miserable, personally responsible, for what very well could be the mech's death.

Jazz was still hot on his tail, engine straining to keep up. Of course, the mech had known nothing of this plan, but now he was involved by proxy. It wasn't until they came upon the old enforcer's headquarters that he finally stopped, transforming to stare up at a figure atop it, holding something in his servo. He was massive, intimidating, with intense red optics and a dark, piercing gaze. And he waited until Jazz had transformed as well to begin to move.

The head of Sentinel Prime landed at the young second in command’s pedes with a brief thump, its impact resonating with finality and seriousness. He looked up slowly at the massive gladiator who stood across the way from him, partially covered in shadows. His red optics glinted in the dark like twin stars that heralded some kind of horrific omen to befall Cybertron.

He spoke as soon as he saw Prowl was truly taking in his face. “I hope that you wanted a war, sparkling,” he sneered, “because you can consider that my declaration. I also hope that you have another ready to step up as Prime, because as far as I am concerned? By the end of the week, you will have a dire need for one.” He scaled, carefully, down the the rubble to tower over the younger mech, glaring down. “I have strived and fought to push for my ideals with peace and patience. I have bided my time, I have held my glossa, I have swallowed my pride, but this? This is my very last straw! All I am asking for is for Cybertron to be a planet of equals, to see this world one where anyone, regardless of their family history or the city they were born in, to have the same chance for success in their life! But you and your ilk keep trying to silence us all for daring to push back and challenge the norm!” He swung an arm wildly as his rage built upon itself, causing Prowl to duck. “I have moved, indirectly or otherwise, through all facets of our society, you ignorant little cuss. I have seen the noblest of souls in among the untouchables, and I have seen the most hateful and useless in charge of us all because they were born to the noble caste! I am sick and I am tired and I am done with being disrespected purely for being a gladiator when that is what I had to do as a youngling in order to survive!” He swung his other arm, clipping Prowl’s shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling. “You think yourself superior and above us all because of your tactical genius - don’t pull that surprised look on me, you had to have anticipated my researching you when Sentinel Prime just strode in to try and murder me for ‘the greater good’ and to try and silence my cause! But you have instead made yourself a fool for it! Do you know why?”

Prowl realized after a moment of unnerving silence that Megatronus was awaiting a reply from him, and finally found his words. “I - I cannot say that I do.”

“Then I will explain myself.” Megatronus straightened up from where he had been leering down at the second in command, and began to pace back and forth, continuing to talk with his hands. “By directly targeting me, you have made it clear that the council now sees me - or will now see me, once they get word from you that their precious Prime is now dead - as a legitimate threat to the status quo, the political atmosphere, and above all their need for complacency. By directly targeting me, you have also only proved to my followers that I am initiating change, and that the lackeys of the higher powers who are content to remain as mindless drones to their word and law will attempt to strike me down without so much as a chance to explain my wishes or to prove my intentions, therefore only making my ragtag band into a willing, and might I add able, army of revolutionaries.” He turned to grin at Prowl, whose expression now wavered between enraged at the “mindless drones” comment and despair at how much his master plan seemed to be falling apart in front of him. “I’m sorry - did your highly vaunted tactical brain not calculate this outcome when you made up your mind to send your commanding officer to certain doom, rather than dirtying your own servos?”

“I - how dare you speak to me that way -”

Prowl tried to start defending himself, but Megatronus quieted him with a flick of his hand dismissively. The fact that the gesture immediately made him shut up just rankled him even further.

“I will speak to you any way that pleases me, Prowl. After all, as of this moment, the only one here who is in the wrong is you, as you essentially murdered your Prime.” But he turned to head the way he had come from. “You just do exactly what I tell you to do after this point, and I swear on the Well of All Sparks that I will leave you be.”

“And that is?”

“You will take that head to the council first thing in the morning. You will tell them that Sentinel Prime’s spark was extinguished by Megatron and his Decepticons. You will tell them that this means war, as far as I and my forces are concerned.” He bent down to look Prowl in the optics, grinning once more as the second in command drew his shoulders back and tried to look self assured, proud and resilient. “And for your sake, I hope that you are not named the new Prime … it would be such a pity to have to kill someone so young and so ambitious off all because he chose the wrong side in the days to come.” He pulled himself back upright as Prowl took a step back in surprise and shock, smirking once more as he disappeared into an alleyway and back into the shadows. “For now, though - farewell.”


End file.
